


Dripping in Gold

by arestorationofbalance



Series: i want you around [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Healing, Healing Sex, Hurt Jason Todd, Jason Todd Feels, Jason Todd Has Issues, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Smut, Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28246032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arestorationofbalance/pseuds/arestorationofbalance
Summary: A mini-sequel to The Spaces Between Us.You filled in the parts of yourself that left you broken with  forgiveness. But as life moves on, there’s someone out there who wants  to know if there’s space for reconciliation. Someone who’s refusing to  be known as Red anymore. Someone by the name of Jason Todd.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Reader
Series: i want you around [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045413
Comments: 21
Kudos: 53





	1. Make It Better

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the warnings and do not read or interact with this if you are under 18 or the content makes you uncomfortable. Thank you! 
> 
> Warnings: implied/ references to sex, vague mentions of trauma, some violence, adult language

“I’m–”

You cut him off _“–Don’t.”_

You already knew what Jason was going to say. He was sorry. _For the thousandth time._

A part of you was starting to regret answering his calls and you still weren’t sure why you even did in the first place.

“A lack of closure,” your therapist explained, “Can cause one to lose their sense of identity and the trust they had in themselves as feelings of inadequacy arise and their sense of reality becomes warped as they try to make sense of their failed relationship.”

It was closure that you wanted. Nothing more than that, you told yourself. But Jason’s explanations only made you more confused as some idiotic part of you rationalized them as hope for something else.

“I fucked up,” he admitted when you first took his call after eight months. You took satisfaction in the hitch in his voice as he asked for your forgiveness. You were silent on the other line as he pleaded with you.

“I was always looking for a reason to leave even though I wanted _this_ and I wanted _you_ so badly,” he confessed during another call a few weeks later. “I was scared.”

Maybe he was stupid. Maybe he was hopeful. Maybe the calls were therapeutic though you exchanged nothing more than greetings with him. You didn’t give him an answer that time either.

You finally spoke after multiple calls that seemed more one-sided than an actual conversation. You tried to steady your voice as all the things you wanted to tell him, all the things you wanted to _scream_ at him fought their way through your throat, the channel tight as you tried to hold back tears.

“I don’t care about how sorry you are or how scared you are of being close to me, of being close to _anyone_. I don’t give a fuck about any of that.”

There was a sigh on the other line before you spoke again, this time your voice more quiet and sad. “…You hurt me.”

And for once he had nothing to say.

You continued after another pause, “I showed you all the fucked up parts of me and then you did _that_. Am I really that fucked up and broken? I… I l-lo… luh…” Your voice cracked as you tried to go on, the tip of your tongue tapping at the back of your front teeth as you tried to say _that_ word. One more attempt and you nearly made yourself retch instead.

Hearing your distress, Jason stopped you, his voice as strained as yours. “I know. I did too. _I still do._ ”

He listened to your quiet sobs on the other line. He was an asshole. For saying that. For calling you. For _everything_. You didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve you. And like an asshole, he was selfish but this time he would make it up to you. If you’d only give him the chance.

“Do think we could ever…?”

There was a hard swallow and a short period of hesitation before you gave him your answer.

\---

Picking up your small bag of belongings, you hopped into the front seat of the car, an amused smile on your lips as you greeted the driver.

“Huh. Didn’t think you’d trade in the bike for a sedan. Suburban dad fits you well.”

The dark-haired man scowled as you looked at the back for a baby seat to prove your point. There was none. No ring on his finger either or any other traces of a lover.

“Hope your legs can run as fast as you run that mouth. I’m about to kick your ass out.”

You blew a raspberry, calling out his bluff. Jason wouldn’t do that to you. He _owed_ you. A ride away from that shithole penitentiary wasn’t even considered a part of his payment towards his reparations.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to do that.”

“Oh yeah? And what position do you want me in then?” He asked as he started the car, cocky smile on his face as he threw an arm around the back of the passenger side’s head rest, his own head turned backwards to look for any cars as he backed out.

“Face forward and mouth shut.”

Your eyes didn’t look back towards the prison lest you be tempted to pick up your old habits. You changed. You glanced at the man beside you, his trademark leather jacket on, hair more tame than you remembered and his lips in a begrudging flat line at your sass. That flirtatious attitude was the same but maybe Red changed too.

You both weren’t ones for small talk –at least not now– letting whatever was on the radio fill the silence between you. Skyscrapers and smaller buildings flew past as you approached the city. Despite the pollution and dreary atmosphere and the busted in sign that read “Welcome to Gotham” as you left the bay, you were hopeful. This was a new beginning.

Not necessarily a fresh start though, you reminded yourself. Being out on a parole didn’t mean that your crimes were excused. Your good behavior didn’t mean much. You suspected that it had more to do with chance that it was granted. Bruce Wayne made an offhand comment about how your anonymous crime tips to the GCPD greatly benefitted the city, that you weren’t _that_ bad if you did things like that, something that one of the members of the parole board mentioned as a huge factor in their consideration.

Going over the conditions for parole in your head, you realized that they were surprisingly lenient for your crimes. Seek regular counseling and therapy. Maintain your curfew and be at home from 11 pm to 6 am. Expect random check-ins with your parole officer.

Internet access at home and on your phone was available but you would be under constant surveillance. They were making it difficult for you to blackmail and extort others again. It’d be hard to commit forgery with limited resources and under a watchful eye. You could easily find ways around it but you learned your lesson and had accepted the consequences of your actions long before you went to trial.

It would be easy to maintain steady employment though you’d be making significantly less compared to what you used to do. You’d never make that kind of money again and you were grateful for Selina diverting some of your funds to an offshore bank account prior to your initial arraignment. Working under the Martha Wayne Foundation’s RISE (Rehabilitation and Integration for Society’s Enrichment) program wouldn’t be bad compared to other jobs.

Sneaking a glance at the man to your side, you felt the same anxiety that swallowed you whole as you walked out of Blackgate consume you again, gnawing away at your guts. It would be easy to reintegrate into society but you were scared of how easily you and Jason fell into the routine of snark and tension from three years ago. As if nothing happened.

You tried to play it off like you were over him months before you were released. Ignoring some calls. Making yourself seem less available even though you had nothing better to do when you were locked up. It was much easier to do when there were brick walls and barbed wire fences between you. Seeing him in person changed everything.

What were you even doing here? With him? What would your therapist think? “Self-sabotage,” she’d say not even looking up from the notes that she’d later add to your file. “It’s not like this is new behavior for you.” She was right. Fucking bitch.

Your thoughts were disturbed as you felt warmth and fingers graze your thigh, eyes moving from the window to your left. Shifting your hips, your body turned away from his, legs crossed over, the motion making the dress you were booked in rise up.

“Been awhile,” you mumbled, sparing him a glance before turning your eyes back to the window. If he noticed the way your dress rose, he didn’t comment on it.

“Wouldn’t have been if you accepted all of my propositions for a conjugal visit,” he said. Whether he was purposefully ignoring your slight rejection for his comfort or yours, you weren’t sure.

He clicked his tongue before letting out a small laugh. “Must be hard trying to deny how badly you want me all the time.”

You scoffed. “How do you know I _didn’t_ have one? Maybe I didn’t want one with _you_.”

Ice colored eyes glanced at you, a flicker of _something_ before moving forward again to focus on the road. If you had a conjugal visit, Jason would have known. He told you he changed but some habits were hard to break, like how he paid off some guards to keep tabs on you. It’s not like he would have stopped you. He just needed to know if he still had a chance or if you moved on.

“Well _if_ you did, they must not have been good. You’re lookin’ at me as if I hit a little too close to home with that last comment.”

Holding your tongue, you knew you had to choose your words wisely or else Jason could easily turn them against you. So what if you wanted him after all that you two had been through? Love and lust were two different things. It’s not like he was ugly either, you thought as you realized that time only made him more attractive, wanting to feel the roughness of his 5 o’clock shadow against your thighs. He was just the first man you’ve laid eyes on after being stuck with women and pigs for three years.

“Red, you’re a shit shot and we both know it. The only thing you can hit is women and that’s because you’re hitting _on_ them. Though with how desperate you are with me right now, seems like you haven’t been that successful.”

Your words held that same quick wit and bite that Jason remembered all those years ago. The type of flirting that showed your interest but put him at a distance. It was a defense mechanism you used whenever you felt threatened. You used it to protect yourself and your heart. And you were using it right now to keep yourself away from him. Again.

“That’s right,” he huffed with exaggerated gusto though he was sure you wouldn’t be able to tell that it was a front.

“I hit on women and hit ‘em from the back too,” he winked, using the same tone as you. “You know a lot about that, don’t you, babe?”

Squinting at the barely-there lettering of the street sign and reading the clock, you guessed that you had at least 20 more minutes of his bullshit. The rest of the car ride was silent.

\---

Jason handed you the key. Luckily for you, Selina saved one of your old safe houses, keeping it in mint condition while you were away after she broke out of prison for the second time this year. You didn’t have the guts to plan an escape like she did. You also didn’t have the protection of Batman like she did either.

Setting your bag by your bed, you began a more thorough inspection of the apartment, feeling around in certain areas for any recording devices, even going so far as to duck your head underneath tables to double check. Between Jason and Selina, the probability of your apartment being bugged was high.

“Can’t be too cautious.”

Jason could have wired the place easily, especially since Bruce encouraged it and offered the tech to do so.

“Jason,” he told his second son. “You already know what kind of person she is.”

Bruce might think he knew what kind of person you were based off your crimes and whatever file he had written up on you but he didn’t know you like Jason did. And he was trying to be better. He was trying to trust you. Keeping tabs on you in prison was his last act of privacy invasion. Everything from here on out would be told on your own volition and at your own pace.

You sighed, determining that the apartment was safe – _for now_ – before sprawling on the couch. The worn leather seats felt luxurious against your back, unused to laying on a cushion thicker than three inches.

“Feels good to be home,” you said, stretching your arms out before rolling over to look at Jason, lounging in your loveseat, his cheek resting in his hand as he looked at you.

“Home is where the heart is after all.”

A scoff and a quip about how time made him more sentimental. “It’s not time,” Jason argued. “It’s _maturity_ –and a big fuckin’ epiphany about how I’ve been a dumbass– that made me tender. Always have been. Just bein’ more open about it now. Not my fault that you’re uncomfortable with it.”

You ignored him. You wouldn’t have to be this way if it weren’t for him. You could have been spontaneous. You could have been honest. You could have been soft and sentimental too. But life didn’t work in hypotheticals and you both knew where reality put you.

“Is that why you’re back in Gotham?”

He laughed, the sound clear compared to the shit quality of the inmate calling service. It was a guttural laugh and you watched as his shoulders shook from the noise. It sounded like music.

“No, that’s why I’m back here with _you_.”

Pausing as the reality of his words hit you, you let them sink in between your ears. _With you._

It’s not like Jason was hiding his intentions. He made it known from the beginning that he intended to make it better between you two. You heard him say it so many times from the other side of the phone. But with the distance between you much closer, his voice clearer and with the way his blue eyes never left yours, you couldn’t help but feel the flutter of _something_ as his feelings hit you bluntly.

You were too tired to engage with him, your own feelings in turmoil since the day he turned you into the police. He didn’t want to be with you then and you doubted that he truly wanted to be with you now.

There was only thing you could do, a tactic you always fell back to when you felt overwhelmed, something you commonly did when you were around him.

One of you had to go away.

“Get out.”

Jason sat up straight from the loveseat, hearing the steeliness in your voice that told him you were serious. He wanted to argue. He wanted to ask _why_. He thought today was going well. You were a little stiff at first but as he watched you stretch on the couch and say his name with a smile, he thought you finally relaxed. He thought you would have found the comment romantic.

You didn’t have to repeat yourself as Jason fiddled with something in his jacket, getting up to leave three breaths after your command.

He set down a cell phone on your coffee table, the model similar to the one you had before it was confiscated as evidence. He slid the device slightly towards you.

“It’s a part of RISE,” he explained. You wondered if Bruce Wayne bugged it to keep tabs on you while you were in the program. You wouldn’t be angered or surprised if he did. It only made sense that he would be wary of someone like you.

“Call me if you want. But I know better than to expect anything.”

\---

Jason thought back to the last time you were that angry with him. It was over two years ago and you had the same quiet anger.

He was on his bullshit again.

Jason should have known better but he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the flutter in his chest when he heard the twinkle of your laughter, a rare moment of clarity on the other line instead of the low buzz of poor connection or the background noises of inmates arguing with officers. Couldn’t help the smile on his face when you said his name, his _actual_ name and not the color. Couldn’t help blurting out the words you didn’t want to hear. But he _felt_ it and it just came out naturally without restraint and in earnest.

And that pure feeling disappeared as quickly as he said it and he hoped that your silence meant the words got lost in the static. He hoped your pause was a calculated one as you tried to decipher what he said before giving up and asking him to repeat himself.

It wasn’t any of that.

You weren’t sure of what to do or what to say first. You imagined the scenario at least thirty times in your head. There were moments of love and reconciliation. There were moments of fear and uncertainty. But most of the moments that you lingered on were moments of anger and revenge. _Punishment._

It would be easy to tell him to fuck off, to scream, to yell, to cry. It was unfair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The words weren’t supposed to roll off his tongue easily with your name quickly followed up at the end of the phrase, as if to serve as a reminder that those words were only meant for you. He wasn’t supposed to finally say it when you were at least a hundred miles apart, separated by more than just time zones as you looked down at the glaring orange jumpsuit you wore.

You held in everything you wanted to tell Jason. It was never easy between you two, which is why you had to make things difficult. You hated that he always had the upper hand, how he always said things whenever _he_ felt like it without any regard to you and your feelings. Jason was never one to tell you what you wanted to hear. He only said the words that he wanted to say to absolve himself of yearning. This was no exception.

He heard the click of the phone hanging up before there silence on the other line. He wouldn’t be able to talk to you for nine weeks after that.

\---

After a weekend to yourself to settle in, you looked up at the tall building that you’d be entering and leaving five times a week from eight to four in the afternoon. Getting off on the third floor of the Martha Wayne Foundation building, you walked into the RISE department on the second door to your right.

Qualifying for the program ensured that you stayed out of trouble and even provided a stipend for six months to help formerly incarcerated individuals get back on their feet as they reintegrated into society. The only requirements were that you worked diligently and that you met with a RISE-approved counselor bi-monthly.

The onboarding process was mind-numbingly boring and you found yourself zoning out as the HR representative droned on. You’d get medical, dental and vision as a part of the program. If you stayed with RISE after two years, there was the possibility of advancement or even doing a lateral transfer into a different WE program or charity.

“The possibilities are endless,” they said with a rehearsed smile as they introduced one of the program’s success stories.

Five hours later and you were shuffled out of the room and to a different one as you waited for your assigned counselor.

Dick Grayson strode into the room, beaming smile and khakis on. There was a file with your name on it in his hand. You tried to look past him to see if there was anyone else who would come after him but the door closed. He was your RISE-approved counselor.

“What are the odds?” He asked though he already knew. The odds were always in Bruce Wayne’s favor.

The two of you ignored the need for re-introductions. You both didn’t need them.

You were surprised that Wayne Enterprises even let you participate in their rehabilitation program after it was revealed that you were working there under a fake identity and accessing information that you definitely did not have the authorization for. The possibility of Bruce Wayne using his first son to keep tabs on you ran through your mind.

“They let anyone do this job?”

“They do when nepotism is a factor,” he said too readily and with a wink. “But hey! I took an online class for a month to get this certification. Needed a change.”

He flipped through your record. No trouble while you were in prison. You participated in the extracurricular sessions that were offered at Blackgate. You didn’t miss an appointment with your therapist. You didn’t even try to leave that one time Two-Face blew up half of the penitentiary as he made an escape.

“Speaking of change,” he said, closing your file and settling into the chair across from yours. “Seems like serving your sentence knocked some sense into you.

You shrugged. “I paid my dues. So what are we supposed to be doing here? Gonna keep me in check so I don’t blackmail some unsuspecting person again?”

There was a hint of resentment in your voice that Dick picked up on. It was difficult to accept that this was your life now.

He cleared his throat. “As you know, the focus of RISE is rehabilitation and in particular, we focus on building a network of positive support. Basically, we’re here to encourage you to make friends.”

“So in the spirit of RISE, I’ll be your first friend at this organization though I’m sure you’ll make many more during your time here,” he said, offering his hand and using him charm to disarm you. You shook it, if only to make the meeting go by faster.

“Tim gonna be my second friend or what?”

He laughed. Despite your closed off attitude and abrasion, Dick found your real personality more engaging compared to the fake persona you had when you were Tim’s secretary. This was the version of you that Jason fell in love with and Dick couldn’t wait to give you both a push towards each other again.

“That can be arranged if you want,” Dick winked.

\---

“Hey Red, might wanna tone it down unless you want another talk with the big guy,” Nightwing’s breath was heavy as the two fought several of the Penguin’s henchmen by the docks.

The Red Hood’s reply was another gun shot, one of the men falling to their knees as they let out a shriek of pain. He purposefully shot him in the thigh instead of the knee. Batman wouldn’t be able to say shit about him causing serious bodily injury.

After all the men were incapacitated, tied up and the GCPD was called, Jason walked away from the scene, not bothering to wait for Dick. The older man met up with his successor nine blocks down and diagonal from their rendezvous point.

“Thought you were trying to work on that temper of yours,” Dick stated, his steps echoing in the abandoned parking garage as he approached Jason.

“They’ll live,” Jason said, wiping the dirt on his gloves off on his Kevlar suit.

Jason had a better grip on his emotions over the years, though at times he did use unnecessary roughness against the criminals of Gotham. It was during these times that Dick noticed that the increased aggression usually had something to do with you and rarely worked out in Jason’s favor.

“Why don’t you try talking to her?” Dick suggested, already deciding that he wouldn’t work on the casefile until he got home.

“That’s the thing,” Jason said, his frustration seeping through the voice modulator. “I’m _trying_ to be patient. Give her space. It’s been a _week_. I’m trying to communicate. _Properly_. But she won’t listen. She still doesn’t trust me.”

Dick watched him carefully, noting the little tells in his body language that told him that his younger brother was bothered. Stiff movements, shoulders slightly hunched. Cleaning his pistol even though the thing was spotless.

“Well, you haven’t given her anything other than your word, so it’s understandable that she’s still cautious of you.”

Jason interjected. “I told her my name.”

“Your _first_ name only.”

“S’not like she could find anything if I gave her my last name either,” he argued.

It was a point that Dick had to agree on. Bruce had taken careful measures to hide Jason’s existence from the world after his death, making up an elaborate story about him studying abroad when he was younger and wanting to live a private life away from the prying eyes of Gotham’s paparazzi. It’s not like you had the means to find out more about Jason anyway if you didn’t want to break the conditions of your parole.

Dick hummed, running his hand through his hair before looking at Jason again. He winced, knowing that unsolicited advice was coming his way.

“Now that you’re both in each other’s lives again, maybe it’s time you give her what she’s been asking for all these years. Maybe it’s time you finally let her in and get to know the _real_ you.”

The real Jason Todd, not the Red Hood. The street rat, Jason Todd. The bad Robin, Jason Todd. The one who died, Jason Todd. The one who loved you, Jason Todd.

Dick went on, “It’s not easy to forgive you.”

Jason scoffed, making a comment about how he was rolling his eyes behind the mask. He was still surprised that he was able to reconcile most of his relationships within the Bat family after everything he did after his resurrection but he supposed a major factor was the fact that they were work associates. He had no such ties with you other than desire.

“I’m sure she’s going through a lot of complicated feelings as she struggles to forgive you _and herself_ for what happened. Learning to trust someone again can be difficult.”

Jason knew that. He knew that you were still angry. At yourself. At him. He was delusional to think that everything would go back to where it was when you were out on parole. He knew better than anyone to think that he deserved a second chance with you but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

\---

“Do you think we could ever…?” He asked, preparing himself for another round of rejection. It was a question he didn’t quite want the answer to, but it was something that he needed to know.

Jason wanted to know if this was futile. He’d give up with your answer. He just wanted whatever little hope he had with each phone call you picked up to be crushed so that the both of you could move on.

There was a pause, heavy and pregnant, its weight pressing against his ribs as he held his breath in anticipation. He heard the deep breath you took and he imagined you swallowing down whatever curses got caught in your throat.

“I can’t promise you that I’ll ever forgive you.”

A part of you desperately refused to, the part that wanted to punish him for hurting you, the part that took joy in his suffering and begging. The part that so desperately needed to protect you from people like him.

But there was also a part of you that believed that he truly was acting out of fear and self-preservation, the part that understood that he might be as fucked up as you, the part that sympathized and believed in the good in people. The part that was still soft and wounded from everything he did to you.

“But I’m willing to try.”

\---

“It’s a common misconception,” the therapist said, closing their notebook and setting it aside as they folded their hands across their lap. “That forgiveness is the same as reconciliation.”

“Forgiveness is an internal process that’s undergone by the individual that was hurt. And reconciliation?”

They could see the look in their client’s eyes as they mulled over the definition of the word, trying to think of concept in action. It looked like they were struggling.

“Do you think that this relationship is really worth saving?”

\---

“You sure you don’t want a phone, kitten? It’ll pass the time while you’re here,” Selina said, finally tearing her eyes away from the screen. “Gideon’s a little scaredy cat too. Can get anything you want with a little force.”

Rolling your peas on your plate idly, you replied, “Got no one to talk to.”

It wasn’t a lie. Too focused on work and juggling multiple identities, you rarely had time for friends. If you did have any, they didn’t know you as yourself but rather as the person you were pretending to be for the day. They didn’t know that the real you was a felon.

You already talked to your therapist on the phone and saw her weekly. You didn’t need more contact than that. Selina and Ivy were your companions whenever they were imprisoned though that rarely lasted for more than a couple of months. Outside of prison? You weren’t too sure of your relationship with them now that you weren’t dealing them information but you doubted it would look good to the parole board if they found out you were in contact with Gotham’s infamous villainesses whenever they escaped.

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” She purred, her green eyes watching you knowingly. Your lip always twitched, as if uncertain if it would turn to a smile or a grimace whenever the subject of him came up.

“I’m not,” you insisted with finality.

“Your little boy toy would be so heartbroken to hear your words.”

You bristled at her call out. “Shouldn’t call him my boy toy when _I_ was the one who got played. You know this.”

Selina clicked her tongue. You were always so difficult and closed off whenever it came to the Red Hood. She gave you time for the first few months. She expected you to be slightly over him after her second escape. But even after three years, you still got moody and defensive.

“We both know that he writes you letters. You two talk whenever the other calls.”

There was a pause and the other woman was expecting your usual catty responses.

“I threw away the letters. And yeah, we do talk every once in awhile. But not like _that_. It hasn’t been like _that_ since I got here.” Two lies but you weren’t ready for judgement and teases when you weren’t sure of your feelings yourself.

\---

Letting out a sigh after another monotonous day at work, you reached underneath your bed, grabbing the plastic bag that held all your possessions that you had during your time in prison. There wasn’t much. Dumping the contents onto your bed, you looked at the scattered pieces of paper. You weren’t lying when you told Selina that you threw out the letters. You just never specified _how many_ you threw away.

Eyes landing on a brightly colored postcard, you scoffed at the tacky “Welcome to Appleton City U.S.A,!” that covered a majority of the card, signature fruit red and round on the paper.

> _Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know you can’t write back but please just take my calls so I can explain myself. You’re still the apple of my eye even though I’m sure you’d rather stick a needle in mine. –J_

The stationery was plain with the smell of cologne faint. The date was marked sometime in February, the year blurred out by a water stain from the time the roof leaked during winter.

> _I know it’s fucked up and I know I’m being selfish but a part of me just can’t give up._

> _If you would listen, I would say it. If I said it, I would mean it. You wouldn’t have to say it back or anything but I just want you to know that this time I’ll make it better._

Picking up another one, you unfolded it though you already had its contents memorized. It was from two years ago.

> _I started going to therapy, not for you but for myself. –Jason_

\---

He glanced at his client who laid on the expensive leather chaise, distractedly tossing its throw pillow up and down as he ignored the question.

He had been going to him for months now, never missing his bi-monthly sessions, even begging for phone sessions when he couldn’t attend physically. He thought that he was making progress. The client talked about work stress, some familial disputes. He went into great detail about how the GCPD’s ineptitude was a trigger for him. But whenever he tried to make progress on his relationship with that one individual, whenever he said _that_ name, he shut down. He ignored his questions and wasted their time until the subject was changed. This instance was no different.

He cleared his throat. “I apologize. I should have known that you wouldn’t want to talk about them again today. We can talk about it when you’re ready. Let’s change the subject.”

His client was silent despite the offer to take control of the situation.

A throat clearing. “It seems like you have difficulties with sharing your personal history and creating intimate bonds. What are some possible explanations as to why you have difficulties opening up to others?”

It was general enough where the question could be answered vaguely. He could even bullshit the answer if he wanted to. All he was looking for was a hint -anything really- to help his client gain better insight into his personal relationships.

The throw pillow made its final ascent into the air before settling in the client’s hands and being placed behind his head.

“Well it all started in an alleyway in Gotham…”

\---

Unsure of why you agreed to go out in the first place, you found yourself wishing you could leave. It was only a 20 minute walk to the nearest train station. Your only deterrent was the last block which was riddled with gang bangers and other questionable individuals that you’d rather not run into. There was only a ten minute wait until the next bus arrived if it wasn’t running late. You could have easily gotten a ride from the plethora of ride share apps available. You weren’t sure if cabs ran through this area at this time of night.

Ice clunked down to the mouth of your glass and nearly spilled all over your face, making you realize that your drink was empty. It was only your second one. Others were on their third or fourth. Some didn’t drink any alcohol at all.

Your co-workers were nice enough though you were certain you wouldn’t associate with each other under different circumstances. Maybe it was the crowd and being caught between too many conversations. It was difficult to socialize _just_ to socialize.

You tried to actively listen to their stories but found your mind wandering and thinking of what you could do with this new information. You wouldn’t be doing anything with it, you reminded yourself. At best, you could recommend -What was her name?- Shawn to the coffee shop down the street from your place. They were always looking for local artists to support and cover their walls with their art.

After coming back from the bathroom, you felt drunker than expected, unsure if it was the drinks themselves or your tolerance. You thought your tolerance was high but you also hadn’t had a drop of _anything_ in three years, refusing to drink any pruno or smuggled in alcohol that was offered.

It was the company, you decided. _They_ were the reason you even felt the need to get drunk right now.

You paid no attention to your co-workers –“Stop calling them that. They’re _friends_ now,” Dick would probably say –as you settled back into your seat and looked down at your phone.

You had one other option to get out of here and you weren’t sure if you would regret your decision.

\---

> _Save me Pl ease_

Another text immediately after.

> _HURRy_

If it was any other time, Jason would have laughed and made fun of you for your spelling errors. But he knew that you were at happy hour with your co-workers, an event that you mentioned to him a few days prior.

“What do you even wear to these things?” You asked, putting Jason on speaker phone.

Despite your labile mood towards him and the occasional bouts of awkwardness, you found yourself turning to him for conversation and companionship as you adjusted to life once more. You were just more comfortable around him compared to others. It was easier to be yourself around him compared to your work acquaintances and you didn’t have to be mindful of your manners or your emotions compared to Dick.

“Clothes are a good start. Though I’m sure depending on _what kind_ of coworkers you have, clothes might be optional and happy hour might have a different meaning.”

You rolled your eyes. He went on. “If that’s the case, can’t say that I won’t invite myself to your little event.”

You laid your options out on the bed, scrutinizing both and trying to weigh the pros and cons of wearing either outfit. “Choose for me. Left or right?”

\---

After texting Jason the details, you waited patiently for him to come. You could have called Dick but you didn’t want to hear a lecture about how important it was to socialize. “Have you made at least one new friend today?” You just didn’t have it in you today or any day really. At least Jason understood your need to be alone and how uncomfortable it could be when you were with a crowd.

Through the chitter chatter of the bar patrons, the clinking of glasses and the low buzz of the TV set, you heard a deep voice to your right introduce himself to your table, catching only his name.

“Jason.”

Your head snapped to his voice, a cocky smile on his face as your co-workers ooh’d and awed. They didn’t know that you had a boyfriend. He’s so handsome! Oh, he’s _not_? Was he single then?

He gave you a slight nod towards the door, hands tucked in his jacket pockets as he waited for you to move. You rose up quickly, the chair screeching behind you as you snatched your purse off of it.

You grabbed his arm with a clumsiness that revealed the extent of your inebriation as if your sloppy texting wasn’t enough.

“Don’t bother,” you said over your shoulder as the two of you left the bar and braced the brisk night air. “He’s taken.”

“Didn’t know I was taken,” Jason said, amused as you stumbled into the passenger seat. He shut the door before walking towards the other end to start the car, heater on blast.

“Not by me,” you said quickly. You were only 15 minutes away from home with the way Jason drove.

“Didn’t say you were. If not you, then pray tell, who is the one that has me?” He teased.

Huffing, you responded, “ _I don’t know._ I was just saying shit for them to back off. Oh, don’t give me that look. I don’t care who you’re with. _Really._ They were being annoying.”

You laid your head against the cool glass as you closed your eyes and waited to reach home, listening to the amused chuckle Jason let out before you heard him hum to the song on the radio.

\---

Turning off the ignition, Jason was grateful that your new place was a single-story flat tucked away in a gentrified part of the East End that bordered Little Italy. It was quiet and it was safe. The neighbors were practically absent so there would be no one there to question why some large man was carrying a passed-out woman back to her place.

He looked to his right. You were still knocked out despite his nudges, mouth agape in an ugly expression. He snickered at your expression.

Getting out of his side of the car, Jason opened your door gently so you wouldn’t slump out of the side. Reaching over to undo your seatbelt, he carefully tucked his arms under your body to lift you up in a bridal hold, tossing your arms around his neck.

You practically threw your keys at him after you settled in the car, a few minutes before you leaned your forehead against the window and fell asleep. Now they laid dangling around Jason’s index finger, jingling with each step he took towards your door.

Jason frowned as he reached your place. He knew that meals in prison weren’t exactly the best but you were lighter than he remembered. He wondered if you were eating well. He’d have to take a peek into your fridge to make sure.

Crossing the threshold, he made a beeline towards your bed, ignoring the way you tiredly clung to him and how you nuzzled your face into his neck, your breath hot with the stale scent of alcohol still on it.

Finally setting you onto your bed, he tossed your shoes to the side and decided it would be too much of a hassle to remove your makeup himself. Mascara stains and foundation on your pillow cases would serve as a reminder in the morning to not drink so much.

Jason quickly stretched before deciding to check out your fridge before leaving. He could drop off groceries in the morning if you didn’t have anything. Who could say no to free food?

Quietly you mumbled in a voice that was half slurred from a drunken stupor and sleepiness. “Stay the night.”

Jason paused at the edge of your bed, unsure if he heard you properly. It had to have been a mistake. Maybe a conversation that was meant for your dreams instead of him.

“Stay,” you said, this time looking at him with half-lidded eyes that quickly closed shut once you knew his attention was on you.

He hesitated as a hand reached out for his but he pulled away before you could entwine his hand in yours.

“Sure. The couch is over there,” he mumbled.

“Bed’s right here,” exhaustion evident in your voice but clearly not enough of a deterrent to argue back.

“I uhh, _I can’t_. You know that. You don’t really want me to either,” Jason tried to reason. “You’re drunk,” he said more firmly.

“What if something happens to me while you’re over there?”

He sighed, questioning for a moment if you were really drunk or trying to play a game with him. But he didn’t want to risk the possibility of something actually happening to you. The two of you had beers before but he had never seen you this drunk.

“ _Fine._ But only because you asked.”

He laid in your bed gingerly after discarding his boots neatly next to yours. Your bed was soft - _too soft_ \- and your duvet made him sweat. But it smelled like you and it had to be some sort of comfortable as you laid passed out once more.

Jason watched the slow and steady rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, a slight smile on your lips. He wondered what you were dreaming about.

It was only with regret and a respect for you that he would leave. It wasn’t appropriate for the two of you to be in bed together. Not like this. If you were sober, he knew you’d pull a face at the prospect of it. “This ain’t a bed of roses, Red,” you’d probably say. “You made your bed now lie in it. _Over there_.”

But all thoughts of escape were gone as he heard a hitch in your breath, an indiscernible mumble that sounded kind of like his name -or maybe he imagined it- and felt one arm throw itself across his stomach as your face nuzzled against his chest. He couldn’t move. In fear of waking you up. In fear of the softness of your touch and the heat of your body being gone.

The night was long.

\---

You rolled over in bed, moving the pillow over your head to block out all the rays of light that were seeping in through the blinds. You had a pounding headache and you were pleased to feel two small caps and a cup as you blindly grabbed at your nightstand.

With a sigh, you prepared yourself for the day, popping the pills and taking them with a sip of water. You didn’t remember setting that out for yourself last night but you gave yourself a pat on the back for drunk you looking out for hungover you. You glanced at your clock, 11 AM staring at you in disapproval even though it was a Saturday.

The smell of something savory lead you to the kitchen. It smelled good but you didn’t have an appetite.

“Hey,” you said, approaching Jason who made himself at home in your kitchen.

He turned around slowly, your voice muffled from the sound of the fan and cooking oil. He turned off the stove, plating the food before smiling awkwardly.

“Bout time you woke up, Sleeping Beauty. Haven’t checked out a mirror yet, huh? Think you could use a couple more hours.”

He was casual, as if the domestic scene was perfectly normal. He opened two drawers before finding the right one that held all the cutlery, pulling out a set of two each. You watched as he threw a few slices of bread into the toaster.

“You asked me for eggs in the morning after you _begged_ me to stay the night.” There was a tightness in voice that belied the awkwardness that he must have felt.

Last night was fuzzy. You remembered texting Jason, getting in his car. You remembered hearing your keys jingle and hearing him mumble about how heel straps were such a pain to undo when he laid you in bed. You remembered hearing him laugh to himself. “See? I told you that the outfit one the right would be better. Gotta thing about wearing clothes that are comfortable to pass out in.” You remembered the weight on the other side of the bed and something warm. And it was with a creeping heat that you remembered you asked him to stay the night.

“Yeah, I know,” you said, trying to brush off the conversation that neither of you wanted to discuss so early in your day. “Feel kinda icky after sleepin’ in my makeup though. Gonna shower.”

You wanted to wash away the shame and confusion you felt towards the man in your kitchen.

**\---**

“Hey!” Your voice boomed to the kitchen. “Can you grab me a towel? It’s in the cabinet outside of the bathroom.”

Jason averted his eyes as he heard you pull back the shower curtain, arm stuck out with a fluffy towel, waiting for you to take it. He could feel the steam escape from the tub, hitting him with a light breeze of warmth before quickly dissipating.

Your eyes watched him, his cheeks tinged pink either from bashfulness or from the heat. It was an unfamiliar look on the man.

“You don’t have to look away. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

There you go again. There was that tease in your voice. But it was different from the time in the car. This wasn’t an act of self-defense. It was a test to see if he understood boundaries, to see if he would look if you told him it was okay. But Jason wanted you in ways that having your body wouldn’t satisfy.

“Yeah, but it’s _differen_ t now. Here, take it.”

He left with his eyes downcast without another word.

\---

After drying your hair and putting on something respectable, you met Jason at the kitchen table.

“You made a lot,” you noted, plating some eggs and grabbing a piece of toast.

“Well, that’s for you and the rest is for me.”

You looked at the plate that was piled high with eggs, six at least leftover and to the smaller plate with three slices of toast.

“What?” He asked. “I’m a growing boy.”

You scoffed. “You’re gonna eat about nine dollars’ worth of organic eggs from the Heights Farmers Market.”

“Should have known you got your groceries at a bougie place like that. _What?_ Gotham Market too good for you now? It’s way better than the shit they have at Blackgate. Oh, _fuck_. Sorry, shouldn’t have said that.”

He covered up his mistake with that false ego he hid behind. “‘Sides this is _the least_ you could offer me after the shit I had to put up with last night.”

Maybe it was the hangover or maybe it was for your own protection. You readied yourself to retort back with something snarky but Jason spoke again.

“And even though it was inconvenient, I hope you know that I’d put up with your shit anytime, so don’t be afraid to call me when you need me.”

He looked at you with the same earnest eyes as he confessed to you on your couch. You shifted in your seat and played with your food. You felt uncomfortable.

\---

“ _Fuck_. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.”

Jason slammed the door to his apartment shut, letting out more obscene swear words now that he was in the privacy of his home.

His mind replayed the scene in the kitchen again, focusing on the fall of your lips and the way the sunlight left shadows across your face from your downcast lashes. You would have looked beautiful if it weren’t for the uneasiness on your face. And it was all because of him.

He lost his appetite after looking at your expression. “Uhh, guess I owe you now for wasting the food, huh?”

You blew out a puff of air, whatever sadness that overtook you leaving with your exhale. “It’s fine.”

You knew those kinds of tricks. It was an offer so that he could see you again. You weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

Walking him towards your door, the two of you stalled at the entrance, not quite wanting the other to leave but also doing nothing to dispel the sudden awkwardness.

Jason cleared his throat before finally turning his attention to you. “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

Letting out an amused noise, you told him, “Farewell, Romeo. Remember there’s still life after a love that’s been lost.”

\---

“There’s a mistaken belief that all the negative things you’ve been feeling -the anger, the resentment, the confusion- will go away once you decide to forgive the other person.”

There was a hum of agreement. “It’s not that easy.”

“Forgiveness is a journey that often intersects with reconciliation. But reconciliation isn’t necessary in order to forgive. Forgiveness isn’t meant to appease the other person. It’s meant for yourself.”


	2. What Would Make You Stay

It was a Shakespearean goodbye.

Fitting, Jason thought bitterly, that the last words you spoke to each other dealt with the world’s most tragic love story.

There was no promise of sweetness between you, despite your words, despite his honesty. There was no hope to see each other tomorrow, the next day or the day after that.

What life was there after love that’s been lost? There was none.

There was passion. True romance, he told himself. There was an eagerness for each other. A longing. A _need._

But was that enough? What about practicality? What happened after?

Surely, it was love but that sort of love wasn’t mature.

It was easier to act as if there was never love at all.

\---

It was easy to ignore Jason. He didn’t call after that. He didn’t text you. There was no conversation to be had with him though there were many words left unsaid.

You weren’t like him. You didn’t keep him somewhere safe, somewhere within reach to crawl back to when you felt like it. This was for the best.

You were doing him a favor. You were doing _yourself_ a favor.

Because what kind of love was it if it was easier to walk away?

\---

It felt as if they were stuck in the same conversation, session after session, as their client struggled to grasp and process what they were going through.

“It’s easier this way,” they tried to convince their therapist. “Easier to just act like nothing happened instead of talking about it.”

“Is it though?” Their therapist challenged back.

There was always a constant battle between want and need with them, a battle against fear and courage, against trust and doubt.

They were quiet and the therapist watched them, the way their shoulders drooped and the way the tight line of their lips fell slack.

“ _It is_.”

They were lying again.

\---

“Hey, girl, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but _careful_ now. Might mistake you for Superman with your strength there,” Shawn Tsang teased.

Rolling your eyes at the only person you’d consider a friend at RISE, you continued to knead the clay in your hands, removing any excess moisture before using a wire to check for any air bubbles before throwing it onto the pottery wheel.

Eyes scrutinizing your target, you threw your ball of clay onto the wheel’s surface before setting to work. A conical shape at first, then a bit of centering. You used your hands to build up walls for the vessel, not caring how hard or sloppily you worked as wet earth got beneath your nails and onto your apron.

It was easy to get lost in the art of ceramics or perhaps you were using it as a distraction from your problems. It was satisfying to create something with your own hands, to see the labor of your efforts take physical form.

Shawn hovered over your shoulder again, admiring your work. It was something to be proud of.

“Built some tall walls,” she teased as she reminded you to the trim the base.

After, she helped you move the vase from the wheel to a ware board. It would take time for it to be leather hard, she explained to you. It would probably be ready in a few days.

“Didn’t know that part of your job was to psychoanalyze the artists,” you said sarcastically.

As the two of you walked from the back of the studio to the sink to wash your hands of slip, she reminded you of her former life.

“ _Can’t help it._ I was an art major, after all. Had to take a lot of psych classes too but that was also a part of my reformation.”

Blowing out a puff of air, the two of you parted ways to observe and help the rest of the class’s attendants.

\---

You found a sense of pride while working at RISE’s afterschool program with at-risk youths. Some did it for the hot meal that was offered. Some did it because they had nothing better to do. Some did it because they genuinely wanted to beat the odds of the shit hand they were dealt. Regardless of their reasons, it felt good to be helping out others directly instead of what you used to do. It was strange that you would find such pleasure in being selfless instead of self-serving.

Flipping through the small stack of papers that were shared between you and Shawn, you asked her questions about your role in the upcoming weeks. You knew you were her assistant but it seemed like you had no place aside from doing busy work like passing out papers, which Shawn could clearly do herself.

She looked up at you before tucking a few stray strands of blue hair behind her ear. “It’s easy to feel like you don’t belong or have a space here but you do.”

“Now,” she grinned, “It seems like you’re asking your boss here for a heavier work load.”

She cut the pile in half, pushing the bottom stack towards you. “Maybe you can try your hand at teaching in the upcoming weeks.”

After working out the finer details for the rest of the week’s lesson plan and the upcoming weeks, the two of you parted ways as you headed towards your car.

You looked up at the sky, watching as the colors sunk into a dark palette, Gotham’s pollution adding a filter of gray over it. It was still cold but the seasons would be changing soon.

You looked down at your phone, checking your call log, then your text messages. Two missed calls from Dick Grayson three days ago, a text message from over the weekend from him about going to a team building -his exact words were “friend making”- dinner. A text message from Shawn the same night, telling you to not go to said dinner because it seemed like it would be lame and to watch movies at her place instead. A text from Tim Drake asking how you were, which you realized you never replied to.

There were none from Jason. You sighed. It’s not like you should have expected any from the man. You basically told him to fuck off in the politest way possible.

It was stupid but you weren’t known for making rational decisions when it came to Jason, especially in the past few months. It had been nearly six weeks since you last spoke to him.

You sent him a text.

\---

Jason felt the vibration in his pocket, excused himself from his date, some shit about getting them a few more beers from the bar.

> _Can we talk?_

It had been about a month since he picked you up from the bar, been about a month since he tried to be honest with you about his feelings for you. It was about a month since you rejected his feelings for him.

He’d already spent weeks, months, _years_ , at your feet, begging for forgiveness. He tried to make it right with you, tried to be honest, tried to be straight-forward. Clearly that wasn’t enough.

It was hard not to feel angered, not to blame you, not to feel strung along. Yet Jason was surprised in how easy it was to ignore you, to pretend as if you two were strangers. But just because it was easy didn’t mean that it wasn’t painful.

He glanced back at his date and gave them a wave and a smile to show them that he was still trying to flag down the bartender’s attention.

His date was cute. They weren’t _you_ but as his therapist reminded him, he could never move on if he continued to hold others to your standard.

There were two options he could take: reply to your text or ignore it. He didn’t owe you shit. He tried -tried _too damned hard_ really- to make it better and you still rejected him. He didn’t have to respond to you but there was a part of him that wanted to despite his better judgement. He wanted answers.

Jason’s eyes scanned the different beers on draft before looking back at his date. They were on their phone and the bar was starting to crowd with its evening patrons. He sighed, apologizing -both to the bartender and silently to his date- before leaving the place through a back door.

There was a third option. Your text didn’t need an immediate response. He could go on patrol to clear his head.

\---

An hour after leaving the bar, Jason found himself in Blüdhaven helping Dick bust a gunrunning op.

“Guess you need help. Well, aren’t you lucky? I’m so graciously offering my services on a weekend when I could be out doing _better_ things.”

Dick let the cockiness slide, knowing that something must be bothering the other man.

\---

“Wasn’t the type of head games I was hoping for, ya know?” the Red Hood said, slightly out of breath.

It wasn’t that Jason was overly reliant on his guns, it had been awhile since he engaged in hand-in-hand combat and the hired muscle was decently adept. He was sweating.

There were shouts and incoherent yelling but years of intense training as Robin made it easy for the two men to block out the noise, allowing them to continue on with their conversation.

Nightwing clicked his tongue after hearing him, earning a quip about spending too much time with a certain pipsqueak.

“Thought this was love _not_ lust.”

Jason sputtered at the comment, allowing one of the goons to land a punch to his gut as he was caught off guard. It was one thing to admit his feelings to you personally but it was another to talk about it so casually with his brother. He found himself feeling near bashful.

“Now who said that?”

\---

Unconscious and groaning henchmen lined the way to the cargo that held the illegal firearms. Pulling out a small knife that he kept tucked in his boot, Jason lifted the lid. He sifted through the items, seeing if there was anything of interest.

“Hey, what did I tell you about my no looting policy?” Dick called out from behind him. Jason begrudgingly dropped the assault rifle.

Dick looked through the crate, ensuring that all the weapons that were described in the dossier were accounted for.

He was casual when he said it, to the point that Jason nearly forgot the conversation’s subject. “She talks about you sometimes.”

Jason chose his words carefully, trying not to sound so curious. “Yeah? And what does she say?”

Dick gave him a wry smile before closing the cargo crate shut. “ _Oh_ , as her confidant and counselor, I can’t be obliged to say.”

Jason rolled his eyes. _Dick._

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

\---

“It’s important to take responsibility for your actions.”

They knew that.

“To express remorse.”

They did.

The therapist elaborated. “Remorse can take two paths: guilt or shame. Do you know the difference?”

They were quiet.

“Do you see yourself as someone good or someone bad? Don’t answer, _think_. If you chose good, you might believe that you’ve done something wrong but that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. That’s guilt. Make sense? Now if you chose bad, well, do I have to say it for you to understand? That kind of perspective often leads into shame.”

They stared back at them.

“It doesn’t matter if you know your path. What matters is that you take your remorse and do something with it, something more than words. _Show it._ ”

“Rectify and restore. _No_ , don’t say anything smart about how there’s actually _five_ R’s for forgiveness. They’re two words with one goal.”

They held their tongue.

“Lastly, reflect. How did you feel during the process? It takes time. Feelings change. _You_ change. What will you do so that you don’t repeat the same mistake?”

They sighed after hearing all of their therapist’s questions. This was going to be a long session.

\---

You spotted the red hooded figure in the corner of the diner, making your way over to Jason.

The area was secluded. Quiet. Two empty booths separated you from the other diners. You would have privacy.

The booth cushion sunk with a huff and you gave him an awkward hello. He didn’t look up from the menu.

“Now what can I start you two lovers with?” An elderly woman asked in a sweet tone. The two of you didn’t make eye contact.

“Water.”

“Same.”

Your tones were brusque. She gave you an apologetic smile after realizing her mistake.

Silence continued after the waitress dropped off your water and took your orders, the only sound being the occasional gulp or clink of ice shifting in the glass.

Jason idly tapped at the screen on his phone, swiping occasionally.

“Thanks for meeting me for dinner,” you finally said. His eyes never left the screen, index finger moving across it.

“I just… I wanted to apologize.”

The tap, tap, tapping on his screen finally stopped.

His eyes met yours to tell you to elaborate.

“For my behavior. For wasting your time.”

Jason sighed, sliding his phone towards the wall, its new place next to the napkin dispenser.

“It’s not a waste of time. _You_ aren’t a waste of time.”

You squirmed under his honesty.

“Whatever this is, whatever _we_ are, it’s complicated.”

He sighed before running a hand through his hair, mussing it so that a few stray curls laid across his forehead in a mishappen heart. Before all this happened, you told him to use a pomade with a stronger hold. Clearly he didn’t listen.

“I’m going to ask you again. Do you forgive me?”

It was the same as when you were in prison. There was a pause but it wasn’t as long and dragged out as before. It was heavy but its weight didn’t make Jason’s heart sink like before. He was tired. You swallowed.

“ _I do_. I do forgive you. It’s…” you trailed.

It was only in your hesitation that Jason felt that his heartrate pick up. You did forgive him but he was… Pathetic. Disgusting. _Weak_. You didn’t love him anymore. _You never did._

“It’s been difficult to move past the anger, the sadness, the doubt.”

Your eyes were on your hands now, refusing to meet his gaze. You thought it would be easy to move past these feelings but they wouldn’t let you go, holding you down and keeping you in places you rather not be. The air was heavy there and it was dark. _Suffocating._ But the longer you stayed, you realized how easy it was to accommodate, nearly forgetting why you hated it there in the first place.

“I want to hate you. I want to scream at you. I want to walk away.”

You took a deep inhale before letting it out as a sigh. “ _But I can’t_.”

Jason knew. He had always known. It was always under the surface, showing itself at times but eluding him when he tried to stare at it directly. You always held back how you really felt now, hiding it behind the bubbling of your laugher and pushing it deeper and deeper into the ocean until the only thing that was left for Jason to see was what he wanted.

He couldn’t blame you for feeling this way. He was the reason for it to begin with. But he felt with sickened pleasure a bit of joy flutter in his guts at your confession that you couldn’t. Couldn’t hate him. Couldn’t leave him. You kept trying. Because you loved him.

He didn’t know what to say as he listened to you, trying to think of a solution to keep you in his life.

It was difficult to start it off and he regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. “I think right now, it’s difficult to go back to what we were. I don’t even think that we can.”

You grimaced at his words but knew the truth in them.

Jason went on. “But what if we started off fresh? As _friends_?”

He watched as you reluctantly accepted his offer. Was it pity?

Friendship between ex-lovers was always a final attempt to stay close, to keep them there until one of you was finally ready to let go. Because it was never easy to say goodbye and friendship could sate the need for love that romance couldn’t fill. Because it was only love that could drip into the cracks and gaps of something broken like you, of someone broken like him. 

“So now that we’re friends,” Jason wondered if you caught the pained expression on his face. You didn’t acknowledge it if you did.

“What have you been up to since…?” He didn’t finish the question, ending instead with an awkward cough.

You told Jason about your work at RISE and about Shawn. How Dick always tried to get you to go to dinner with him at least once a week. Jason reminded himself to tell his brother to fuck off. How you ran into Tim and you texted every once in awhile. You were going to get Thai food next Thursday.

“In public?” He interrupted you.

He knew that you knew of his weakness towards his replacement. Jason looked for any tells to see if you were lying to him to make him jealous.

“Presumably,” you said. “Though I guess we could always get take out and go to either of our places.”

It’s not like you were intentionally riling Jason up. You made these plans two weeks ago.

“What’s wrong?” You teased. “We’re only hanging out as _friends_.”

“Well, since you only wanna talk about yourself, guess I have to do the same.”

His jealousy was obvious.

“Can’t talk about work since _you know_. But I’ve been going to the bars a lot.”

You made an exaggerated cooing noise. “That heartbroken, Romeo?”

He scoffed. “I’ve been going on dates.”

“ _Dates_?” You clarified, looking at him incredulously.

“Sometimes more,” he winked.

You knew Jason wasn’t stupid enough to take his dates to any of his safe houses lest he swiped the rooms clean of anything incriminating though it was likely that he kept his weapons and gear in locked spaces that weren’t easy to access. Taking them to any number of his safehouses across Gotham was a viable possibility the more you thought about it.

_Or_ he could have taken them to his actual home. The home you only knew vaguely of. Where his elderly neighbor three doors down always tried to get him to fix her shit for free. Where the floorboard to the right of his couch always squeaked when he walked on it. You learned that because he mentioned it every time you talked on the phone. You could have traced his call and pinpointed his location to find out where he lived but you wanted him to invite you to his home himself.

You wanted Jason to let you in himself instead of having to beg, having to _plead_ to get to know him, to _be_ with him.

You resented how easily he let others in while he left you out in the cold.

Jason’s blue eyes focused on you, your face, your voice. You weren’t bubbling. Your simmer was rapidly turning into a boil and you let anger crack your voice like the heated splash of water overflowing on a stovetop.

“Well, while _you’re_ busy keeping your bed warm with bitches, _I’m_ going home.”

You left abruptly like a flame that was immediately extinguished but Jason was hot on your trail, throwing cash on the table to pay for your cold meal.

\---

“Have you tried actually talking to him about your feelings?”

You looked off to the side. She already knew your answer.

“It’s very ironic how well you two seem to communicate with everyone other than each other. What is it about being vulnerable with him that makes you so uncomfortable?”

You gave her a look. “Should I remind you of where we were having our therapy sessions for the past three years?”

She didn’t need a reminder. You brought it up every session for nearly a year straight.

“And if it happens a second time…” you trailed off.

She sighed. “I know you look to me for guidance but I can’t make this decision for you.”

You let out a noise of frustration. She didn’t even have to directly say it, if she _hinted_ that you were making a stupid choice, you would have cut Jason out of your life completely.

“What makes life after betrayal and hurt so difficult is that it makes you doubt your own judgement. It’s frightening to feel as if you have no one to trust, especially not yourself. But you’re going to have to learn to trust yourself again.”

She smiled. “It’ll happen one day.”

\---

You heard Jason call out to you but you continued to walk briskly -just short of a light jog- on the sidewalk, ignoring him.

You shouldn’t have stormed off like that but the anger that you so carefully kept under control was overflowing and running away was the only way you could let off the steam. It was the only way you could let your feelings turn into vapor, allowing them to get lost in the air. Doing so left you feeling empty.

In your haste, you ran into something sturdy, causing you to take a step back and apologize. Looking up, you were startled, thinking you had left him behind you.

The two of you were alone again on the streets of Gotham and for once, you didn’t want such privacy.

Jason pulled you into an embrace, holding you in his arms to keep you from running once more. If you had looked up, you would have seen how he regarded you with eyes as pale as ice, ice that held depth, ice that was melting. There was a warmth beneath them when he looked at you but you didn’t want to see it.

Lying still in his arms, you knew it was useless to break free from his hold. You would have laughed at the poetry of it if it were any other time, how desperately you wished to be close to him and how his embrace did nothing to make you more intimate. There would always be a space between you.

“Why do you do stupid shit like this?” You mumbled into his chest. His heart was slow, steady, its beat the same rhythm that it’s always been.

“Like what?”

“Why do you continue to come after me even though you don’t give a fuck about me?”

The conversation was tired since its first use in the parking lot across the Hotel Belle Monico. You gave him the same accusation.

“You must think I’m a fucking idiot.”

And finally Jason pulled away from you, pushed you away so he could finally look at you in the moonlight, the clouds unable to hide your truest face, the silver light making your eyes shimmer. He couldn’t see himself as your eyes grew wet with tears. There was only embarrassment and inadequacy.

Whatever this was, whatever you were, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make it better because it wouldn’t be enough to make him stay. It was disgusting how easily he could be himself with others, how easily he _wanted_ to show himself to others, and yet with you, he was so guarded, only throwing scraps of his identity that you pathetically swallowed whole.

It wasn’t enough, whatever this was. You shouldn’t have put your faith in the stars but even then, you would still have to confess that maybe you weren’t meant for each other. It wasn’t the stars that were maligned. It was your egos.

“ _You’re_ the idiot? _I’m_ the fucking idiot,” he argued back.

“How many times must you punish me for something I’m trying to atone for? You have me _crawling_ through hell to be with you. And for what? To take it all back and decide that maybe, _just fucking maybe_ , you don’t forgive me after all? That you had a sudden change of heart?”

You huffed, the movement of your chest rising and falling was disjointed. Whatever restraint you had was gone, the inflection and volume of your voice was loud and crashing, like the ocean waves during a storm.

“ _You_ ’re trying to put the blame on _me_? As if _I’m_ the one hurting _you_? _You_ don’t get to say when I should move on and get over-”

He interrupted you, his voice clipped. “Did I say _any_ of that?” He looked at you. “Did I?”

“You don’t have to _say_ it so bluntly for me to _feel_ it, Red.”

The color didn’t hurt him. It was always Red when you were mad at him, at first an unassuming tell for your real feelings but this time, he could feel its intention as you spat it out. It was hot like water that’s reached its boiling point.

“I can _feel_ it when you’re with me. The expectation to act as if we’re better, as if we’re ‘ _good_.’”

“But we’re not, are we? Maybe we _never_ were.”

Your anger receded back into the sea. The only remnants of it weren’t the vivid flashes of lightning bolts, white hot anger that was as equally dangerous as it was a display, or the blowing winds, the volume of your voice, that surrounded him. The only trace left of the storm was caught on the horizon, its colors pale and faded. What was left was clear to Jason, he could finally see that beneath your resentment, there was fear.

“Maybe we weren’t meant to be lovers,” you lamented. You were tired, tired of fighting yourself and Jason.

You breathed, looking around you and becoming more aware of the scene you had caused on the empty street, grateful that a spectacle wasn’t made of the heart that Jason stole from your sleeve and set out on display.

Jason’s eyes looked pale under the Gotham moon, nearly white and absolutely cold. It reminded you of the tundra. It reminded you of _that_ night.

“We were never that close to begin with.”

\---

The therapist lifted an eyebrow. “Now why would you think that that is an acceptable way to deal with someone who’s upset you?”

They shrugged. “It’s… just how I was raised.”

It wasn’t uncommon for individuals to continue on with the strategies they learned and used to cope and communicate while they were young. It was uncommon for them to realize that their methods, though helping in their survival thus far, were detrimental -toxic, even- to their relationships.

“The coping skills that helped you survive in the past may be hurting you in the present.”

They scoffed. “Seems like I’m doing good so far.”

Their therapist bit back a reply.

“Not showing emotion, a lack of communication, rejecting love and kindness… Those are only a few weapons of self-defense that no longer serve us.”

“Can you think of any times where you have used these methods to protect yourself?”

\---

You were at the diner again six nights later. Same spot. Same waitress. She didn’t question why you were alone or make any comment about the man who sat across from you twenty minutes after you ordered.

Jason started first. “The other night was…”

“Shit,” you offered.

“Bad,” he finished.

“A euphemism,” you told him. He nodded.

“Therapy’s not doing much, is it?”

The two of you shared a laugh.

“Friends?”

The offer was taken.

“Can’t help but feel a nagging pressure though to talk about _that_ night or the other night.”

There was a thoughtful hum as you two stared in each other’s eyes, as if searching for all the words and feelings that were left unspoken in the days, nights, weeks, _years_ that you’ve known each other.

“ _Nah._ It’s easier to pretend like nothing ever happened.”

“Water under the bridge.”

“Despite the past being in the past, that _doesn’t_ mean you can steal my fries, Jason.”

The two of you walked side-by-side after leaving the diner, his leather jacket slung across your shoulders as you both hurried to get away from the cold.

You joked that you two probably looked like two good friends trying not to freeze their ass off on a cold night in Gotham but to any observer they would only see two lovers eager to go home with each other.

\---

“Great lesson but wow, you look like shit. Teaching nerves got you up all night?” Shawn asked.

“I wish it were something as simple as that,” you mumbled, sliding all of your notes into your folder. “Boy problems,” you added.

Shawn gave you knowing look. “Spill it.”

You looked at her with hesitance, trying to think of what to say without revealing too much of your past life and Jason’s other identity.

“I used to think we were star-crossed, that maybe if our circumstances were different, there might have been a chance.”

You paused, trying to think of what to say next.

“Now I’m starting to think that we’re just not good for each other.”

She gave you a thoughtful hum, a wistful look on her face as the two of you sat in the empty RISE facility.

She turned to you. “Dick ever tell you that we used to date?”

The man was talkative but you weren’t interested in his love life. You shook your head.

“He…” She trailed. “He brought out the best in me _also_ the worst.”

“Look, I’m an artist. _I’m naturally romantic as hell._ But I gotta call bullshit on blaming the stars for your love problems. At the end of the day, it’s about honesty and effort. _Trying_. For _them_. _For each other_.”

You tried to be tactful but there was no other way to go about it. “You two broke up, but what are you now?”

Her mouth twisted into a sad smile. “Tried to be friends after some time, but you know how that goes...”

You had been in the same room as them before at RISE’s main office. Dick Grayson, friendly with everyone, only acknowledged her in greeting. They were acquaintances now.

The air was heavy. You cleared your throat before changing the subject.

“Thanks for the talk. I’m gonna head out now though. Can’t look like shit two days in a row.”

\---

“We can’t meet like this,” you said, avoiding her eyes as your fingers grazed the flower petals before you. To any stranger that happened upon you, it would look like two women -maybe strangers, maybe friends- were standing next to each, both in search of the perfect bouquet.

“You’re the one who came to my flower shop,” she reminded you.

“How was I supposed to know that this particular one was a front for an underground eco-terrorist group?”

You didn’t have to turn your head slightly towards her to tell that she was looking at you. You could feel her gaze and heard the incredulous hum. “Uh-huh.”

“What? I don’t do _that_ anymore,” you pointed out. It was strange to hear yourself say it this time though you’ve told her and Selina multiple times at Blackgate. It felt more real now that you were out of prison.

She changed the subject. “So how’ve you been?”

You shrugged, giving her a vague answer, but Ivy was always able to see through your bullshit. Something was bothering you.

She hummed. She didn’t need the tricks of pollen to get the truth out of you.

“Can’t smell the roses if you’re holding onto its thorns,” she pointed out.

“Now how can I get close if the thorns are keeping me away?”

“You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure out a way.”

She picked out a bouquet for you: hollyhocks.

She rung you up, wrapping the flowers in florist paper, offering you a reminder before you left the store. “Even flowers can grow from shit, you know.”

\---

Toes pointed straight like a ballerina, you stretched your arms above your head to lengthen your figure before sinking down into your couch again. Jason idly massaged one foot, his attention focused on the tv screen.

Turning your head towards the screen, you complained. “Ugh, this show again? I thought we were doing something different tonight.”

Jason’s eyes drifted towards you before going back to their previous position. He blew a raspberry. “That’s what _I_ thought too. Yet here we are. Another weeknight where I massage your feet while you complain about shoes that I told you weren’t cute _or_ practical.”

Your attention was already on the screen again, making you miss the smile on Jason’s face as he watched you pout. He was right.

You rolled your eyes as Jason idly scrolled through his phone -something about monitoring a drug bust-, not even watching the show. You took it as an opportunity to take the remote and put on something more interesting.

He didn’t look up from his phone. “I was watching that.”

“Right.”

Jason set his phone aside and plucked the remote easily from your grasp, switching it back to what he wanted.

“My place, my rules,” you said firmly, finally sitting up to try and grab the remote back from him. He held the remote barely out of your reach, watching with amusement as you crinkled your nose and your lips pouted at not getting your way.

“I don’t know why you wanna change it so badly,” he said.

You were nearly sitting in his lap now, straddling his thigh as you stretched to reach the device. The skirt you wore hiked up your thighs and your neat button-up became untucked from your waist.

“I just don’t like it. I want something different.”

You were trying harder now and Jason could see the strain your reaches were putting on your blouse’s buttons. One hand squeezed his shoulder to steady yourself as your chest pressed closer and closer to his face.

That’s when you noticed his gaze, your eyes meeting his as the hands that fought for the remote lay tangled with each other instead, the device slipping between you and falling in-between the couch cushions to be forgotten.

He shifted on the couch, the movement making you bounce. He had to get you off.

And in doing so, the two of you felt something else aside from the uncomfortable tension.

You stood up abruptly, hand slipping out of his grasp but your legs still caught between his. Jason nearly took you out too, standing up less than a breath after you. He caught your balance and you were keenly away of the large hand that gripped your elbow to steady you.

You looked at everything but each other.

Jason was gone with the clearance of his throat and the slam of the door, faintly mumbling something about patrol starting earlier tonight.

\---

“I can get in trouble for this,” you said, eyes darting around for any person who might be standing too close to get an earful of Jason’s explicit suggestion.

“Oh, you’re afraid of trouble now, babe? Didn’t seem so scared when you’d act all bratty those nights we spent together,” his voice was nothing more than a low, breathy taunt. Jason glanced towards his door, grateful he always locked it out of habit as his free hand slid under the band of his boxers.

“Quiet, huh? Trying to relive the moment? You don’t have to dig so deep into your memories. I’ll remind you of how you make me feel.”

Jason heard you suck in a breath as you remained silent on the other line. He continued, his voice steady and paced. You didn’t hang up on him yet.

You heard the sound of spitting and the rustle of clothes as Jason went into detail about how much he missed you, the static of the phone line reminding you of his helmet’s voice modulator.

It wasn’t bad to be nostalgic, you told yourself. It wasn’t bad to share your feelings either. This wasn’t two lovers reliving an old fling. It was a friend trying to help the other out.

You closed your eyes and listened, trying to remember each word for when you would be alone in your cell.

\---

Jason waited for six rings until he picked up the phone, trying not to seem too desperate. You hadn’t spoken since that night and he wasn’t sure of where to begin.

“Hey, I’m sor-”

“About the other-”

The line was silent as you waited for the other to finishing speaking.

“ _That night_ …”

There were too many nights between you, too many moments left unspoken for. The frustration was consuming.

“You shouldn’t have done that-”

He couldn’t argue back. He really shouldn’t have.

Jason was cut off before he could apologize.

“Shouldn’t have called me your friend. Shouldn’t have _wanted_ to be friends.”

“Because friends don’t want what we want.”

Jason didn’t mean for his voice to lower, soft as if he was whispering in your ear. “And _what_ is it that we want?”

There was a pause on the other line that made him worry that he read the situation wrong.

Your voice wasn’t as harsh as before. It was quiet, reserved and if he didn’t know you, he’d even call it demure.

“Do I have to say it?” You asked, knowing the answer without his confirmation.

“I want _you_ , Jason.”

It was enough to send whatever blood Jason needed to think down to a different organ, one that wasn’t so much focused on lust as it was on hearing the words that he had been wanting so desperately, words that you had offered without making him beg for it. His heart was full.

“How do you want me?”

You closed your eyes to think. You didn’t want him the way you did in the past. You didn’t want secluded alleyways with brick against your skin. You didn’t want the Iceberg Lounge or some high-end hotel. You didn’t want the fake atmosphere of romance that a midnight tryst offered.

You wanted Jason on your couch after a long day at work -not that the day was particularly bad, you just wanted to come home to him. You wanted Jason as you watched TV together, not quite paying attention but simply being in each other’s presence. You wanted Jason to look at you, to see you, for who you really were and you wanted to know him in the same way.

“I want you exactly as you were the last time I saw you.”

“If we didn’t…” You started, licking your lips as your mouth ran dry. “Would you have…?”

All you heard was a breathy, “Yeah.”

“All you have to do is ask and I’ll give it to you. _All of it._ I promise.”

Your conversation on the phone would be thrown on to the growing pile known as _that night_.

But tonight wasn’t left unspoken. You and Jason spoke in a language that only lovers knew, through heated sighs and profanity with good intentions.

\---

The line was silent, occasionally picking up heavy, short breaths as you both came down from your high.

“You understand, don’t you?” You asked. “Why we can’t be friends?”

“Yeah, we can’t,” he admitted.

“So what are we?”

“I can’t tell you what we are but I can tell you who I am.”

Scoffing, you told him to tell you something you didn’t know. You listed off his names. “Red, Jace, Jason…”

“…Peter Todd.”

“Two more identities?” You mused.

“Some of us unfortunately have three first names.”

“Jason,” you said slowly, practically feeling his eyes on your mouth with the enunciation of each syllable in his name. The phone picked up a hitch in his breath that made you self-conscious, making each movement of muscle and tongue mindful of his being.

“Jason Peter Todd _._ ”

It wasn’t as painful as he thought it would be, telling you his name. There was a nice ring to it as you repeated yourself one more time.

His mind began to wander towards daydreams where you’d say his name as a murmur at night, fingers twirled around his hair, where you’d say his name as a threat for not doing chores in the home you shared, where you’d say his name as a symbol of pride if someone asked who you loved.

The smugness of his smile spread quickly across his features chasing away whatever softness might have graced them before you caught on to his thoughts.

“Practicing for another round, sweetheart?” He asked salaciously. “You don’t have to work so hard _or_ be as patient. We can do it _right now_ if you want.”

You said his name a third time as a yelp of embarrassment before telling him that you had to go.

“Hey!” Jason tried to catch your attention before you hung up. “I said I’d help if you wanted to do _that_. You don’t have to act all shy about it.”

He looked at the screen with a grin. He quite liked the way you said his name with a squeak. It reminded him of the past when he’d catch you off guard by doing _that one thing_ , making heat crawl up your neck as you tried to swat him away, calling out the color red as if it was a warning that you’d later admit you were grateful he didn’t heed.

\---

You thought of what to do with the information. The last time you had begged to know his name, to know the man beneath the helmet, he had spurned you completely, replacing the security of his embrace with the confines of a prison sentence.

There were other ways to find information on someone other than the Internet, other ways where you wouldn’t get caught or get in trouble. You had always been curious about him and you knew enough about Jason Todd to find _something_ on him other than what he revealed to you already. You knew his birthday after all.

\---

“Hello, this is a collect call from…” Jason laughed at the difference between the pre-recorded voice and your own as you said your name. He dialed ‘3’ on his burner phone to accept your call.

“Happy birthday, Jason,” you crooned from the other side of the line. “Bet you thought I forgot, huh? But we’re celebrating on _Gotham time_ instead of wherever the hell you are and here, it’s finally August 16th.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason asked, smiling as he pressed the phone to his ear. Hearing your voice made up for the cracked ribs that kept him sleeping upright on the couch for the past two nights. “And what time is it over there?”

You looked at the entrance to the phone room, making sure it was the still the body of Carnes at the entrance instead of a guard.

“A little past midnight.”

Jason was careful not to laugh but his amusement was evident in his voice. “Sneaking into the phone room for a lil hello? Someone’s being bad.”

“It’s your birthday,” you said matter-of-factly before lowering your voice. “And I told you before, bad girls do bad things.”

He snorted before wincing at the pressure it placed on his ribs. “Yeah? And what other _bad things_ are you willing to do or say for the birthday boy?” He asked, voice dropping lower. He wasn’t expecting much.

A thoughtful hum broke through the static of your line.

“Jason,” your voice soft and seductive and he felt himself stir at the sound of you calling out to him. That was a gift in itself and he wondered why he didn’t tell you his name sooner, forgetting for a moment that it was because he was afraid of getting close to you.

“How bout I tell you something good instead?”

He gave you a breathy “yeah” in return.

“I _-_ ”

Whatever you were about to tell him was interrupted by a gruff “Hey! It’s after hours!” followed by a quick disconnection.

Jason stared at his phone. He wouldn’t be able to talk to you for three weeks.

\---

You could already think of several sources to gather information on who Jason Todd was. Steven who went to My Alibi on Thursdays at 10. Marisela from the grocery store who seemed to know everyone and if there was a name she didn’t recognize; she knew someone who did. You could easily break into the Gotham Gazette’s HQ and go through past archives. A safer route would be to go to the Gotham Library and search through year books. You had a rough estimate of his age anyway. If you were truly desperate, you could ask Ivy or Selina. They’ve been working in Gotham much longer than you and surely would know something that linked the Red Hood to his civilian identity.

But you only wanted to know about Jason Todd from the man himself, you admitted as your fingers idly drummed on the kitchen counter, mulling over his name. It was trust that you wanted from him and you knew you wouldn’t get it if you broke his trust in you.

You tapped at your phone screen, quickly unlocking it and accessing your short list of contacts. Index finger tapping on ‘J’, you clicked on his name to edit his information, smiling as you typed his last name in.


	3. What Makes Us Feel Good

The seriousness of the conversation called for the sobering chill of the Bat Cave or at least the stiffness of the grand dining hall in the manor. It was odd to see not one but two large men, similar in height and build, storming through garden walkways lined with English roses.

“It’s your name, Jason,” Bruce said harshly. His tone was like a dark cloud, heavy with the weight of the situation. “It’s not an alias. It’s not your mask. It’s _you_.”

“I’m _dead_ , Bruce. To the world, Jason Todd no longer exists.”

Bruce stopped abruptly before spinning around to look at his son, nearly making Jason crash into him. Jason didn’t understand how difficult it was to hide him -to _protect_ him- from the world after what happened. He always perceived Bruce as strict, as giving him unfair treatment, especially when he returned. He didn’t understand how hard he worked to protect him and his family.

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Bruce laughed at the irony, looking at his son. Jason was always dramatic.

“Would it though? You made the poor girl wait over three years to learn your name.”

As much as the younger man wanted to deny it, Jason was bound to his name. He was tied to Bruce Wayne as Jason Todd, to Batman as the Red Hood. He could be dead or alive, it didn’t matter. He would always be a part of Bruce’s family, which meant that Bruce would always try to protect him, even if Jason couldn’t understand his reasoning.

Jason was silent. Bruce had a point. But he was never one to give up in a fight and he didn’t mind going for low blows.

“I don’t see you hassling Dick or even Tim for revealing their identities. Sometimes to girls who’ve barely lasted more than two months. So why do I get all the shit?”

He always knew what words would hurt Bruce the most, the words that exposed his truest feelings, the ones he’d never admit to his father willingly or frankly. The words that told him that Jason felt unloved.

\---

Alfred said nothing as Bruce walked into the kitchen. Most meetings with Jason ended up this way: a tired Bruce with his head in his hands.

“Jason’s just too temperamental,” he groaned. It was the same expression he used nearly every time Jason left upset.

“I don’t suppose that dressing up in tights to fight the criminals of Gotham did anything to help with the undeniable trauma he has from living on the streets and having a less than desirable childhood.”

Bruce shot his surrogate father a glare. “I gave him a chance and he took the offer. _I saved him_. I made him stronger. I did the best that I could.”

“Sometimes our best isn’t what our child needs,” Alfred said gently.

“Master Jason is reacting the only way he knows how: using anger as a front to cover his feelings of inadequacy, sadness and disappointment.”

Alfred’s words did little to ease the regret that Bruce felt and what he’s always known. He didn’t have to say it. Jason didn’t need to be stronger. He was only a child, _still_ his child. He needed to be safe. He needed to feel loved.

\---

“I’m tired of being angry,” they said in a moment of candid vulnerability that their therapist didn’t have to drag out of them.

Anger had a negative association. It was bad. Some even considered a sin. But when healing, anger was good. It was healthy.

They weren’t sure of why they angry and if they were talking about today or something in the past. They didn’t know who they were angry with.

The therapist took a general approach.

“You’re allowed to be angry with the people that didn’t protect you, towards yourself and the unfair situation you were put in and towards a society that didn’t hold those who hurt you accountable.”

“It’s easy to be angry and to stay there but don’t stop. Anger is the precursor to transformation. It’s the color of red, the color of passion, the color of energy. It’s healthy to be angry because it signifies that something needs to change.”

\---

Trying to hide the disappointment on your face, you asked the cat burglar crawling through your window how she’s been. It was silly to think that Jason would come over tonight.

“What? Want me to send a picture?” He asked, over the phone earlier in the day. “It’s worth a thousand words.”

“Or you could just text me,” you suggested.

“Nah, I think a picture is more romantic than sending a text that says ‘let’s fu-”

“-Came home safe.” You interjected.

You worried that you said something wrong as you were met with silence on the other line.

It had been awhile since Jason worked on a team where his whereabouts after a mission needed to be known. It had been awhile -perhaps even years- since someone had wondered about his personal safety.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Seems like you’re not that interested in what I’ve been up to,” Selina noted slyly as she made herself at home on your couch. “So tell me how _you’ve_ been.”

“Oh, I’ll be _much better_ when a wanted criminal leaves my place since I won’t have to worry about violating parole.”

“That scared?”

“Unlike some people, I always knew I’d get caught one day and was prepared for the consequences.”

She brushed off your comment. “Why did you even bother then?”

“Voyeurism provided a way for me to experience things without the responsibility of having to participate or change myself. It was safe. And it had the extra benefit of providing an easier source of income compared to a 9 to 5.”

“But now that I’m actually experiencing life, it’s not that bad.”

“Working regular hours fucking sucks though,” you added.

“Hm, good to know but still not what I really want to know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Jason and I are…”

You tried to think of a word to describe your situation. It wasn’t particularly good, the two of you weren’t ignorant enough to believe that. Defining it as fine also felt like a disservice to your feelings.

“Alright.”

It was acceptable. It wasn’t the best but it also wasn’t the worst.

“Oh?” Her green eyes twinkled. “He has a _name._ ”

You were careful about keeping his first name a secret when you first learned it in prison and you were just as secretive with his full name.

He had always had a name but as Selina pointed out, “Jason is far more fitting for a lover than a color. He sounds more like a person than a stray you found on the streets.”

You huffed at her comment.

“Well, did it _change_ anything?”

“What? Like it was supposed to change our whole relationship?”

“With how you agonized over it in prison, it seemed like it would.”

Knowing Jason’s true name was different. You only knew one side of him -not even his vigilante persona but rather some strange amalgamation of his civilian identity and his heroic one. You remembered the upward curl of your lips as you changed his name in your phone.

“I feel closer to him, but it’s not enough.” You admitted. It didn’t matter if he was Red, Jay, Jason or Jason Todd. “Because I want to know more.”

Selina knew the feeling well. It helped but it didn’t really matter what he was called -Batman or Bruce Wayne- because she wanted whoever it was beneath the mask. She wanted his presence, his thoughts, his secrets, things that weren’t easily stolen or revealed, things that only trust could provide.

“I can give you some info if you want,” she offered. She racked her brain for more appropriate information that would appeal to you rather than the difficulties of child rearing that Bruce endured.

“Perks of fucking Batman?”

Selina only smiled.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” you pointed out.

“But satisfaction…”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me being satisfied.”

\---

“Daddy issues?” Jason scoffed. “I ain’t payin’ ya to tell me the same shit my best friend could tell me over a beer.”

His therapist ignored him, continuing to list its manifestations. “An aloofness towards relationships, a fear of commitment and difficulty with acts or words of intimacy.”

“Now tell me about your relationship with your father.”

Jason fidgeted with the throw pillow again, tossing it up higher and higher.

He caught it once more before finally speaking.

“Willis?” The name sounded strange to his ears. “A piece of work who spent most of his time in prison instead of being a parent.”

“No, your _father_ ,” his therapist insisted.

Jason turned the pillow in his hands once more, thinking about the advice his therapist gave him whenever he felt anxious. List one thing you saw around you. Do it five times. It was meant to ground the individual to the present.

Willis left Jason alone to take care of his drugged-out mother. A breath. A painting by James Pollock. Definitely not an original. Willis taught his how to steal instead of taking him to school. He breathed. A corn plant on the table. Bruce adopted him. He inhaled. The dark blue throw pillow in his hands. Bruce gave him a chance. He exhaled. The leather chaise. Bruce replaced him. A picture of his therapist with Leslie Thompkins.

He started off slow. The more intimate the relationship, the more hesitant Jason became, his therapist wrote in his notes.

“The patient confidentiality agreement is binding but especially so when it deals with Bruce Wayne.”

He reassured Jason that he was well aware of the legalities of HIPAA.

“What do you want me to say? The old man adopted me when he was young. He was a fool then. Still is. But like they say, one man’s trash is another man’s…”

Waiting for Jason to continue was nearly awkward as the professional watched the man waver in his words.

“… _Asset_.”

He wrote notes down about needing to explore Jason’s issues with self-worth and objectification.

\---

> _Just parked. Two cars down from the flagpole. One down from the asshole with the yellow Tesla._

The described car was obnoxiously bright against the Gotham gloom and the rain was heavy as you bolted towards Jason’s car. You shut the passenger door as quickly as you opened it.

“When I said I wanted you to get wet for me, I didn’t mean like this,” he teased, leaning across the center console to wipe away a few raindrops at the apple of your cheek.

When he was done, you wiped the rain from your forehead and used the mirror to check if your makeup smeared. You shook your hand to get rid of any droplets that stayed.

“And _I_ said I wanted things to get hot in here. But I meant like _this_.” You turned up the dial for the heater all the way.

The hot air melted away the chill of the outside as you two sat in traffic. There was always traffic in the Diamond District at this time but it didn’t bother either of you as you talked about your days.

You laughed when Jason told you he nearly threw up after he left your apartment after breakfast to go undercover. He wasn’t expecting to run on foot and hide from Nightwing who didn’t know he was working a secret case.

“Told you so.” You knew it wasn’t a good idea to eat such a heavy meal before he worked his case.

He brushed your comment aside with two repeated “Yeah”s before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence with music in playing low in the background as you people watched out the window.

“Is this a lasting treasure? Or just a moment of pleasure?”

You turned to him, wondering if you missed him saying something before that. You were distracted by watching whatever was out the window.

You didn’t miss anything, you realized, as Jason quietly sang to the song on the radio, a habit that made you wonder about the extent of his comfort around you.

He continued on. “Can I believe the magic of your sighs?”

Turning back to the window, you missed the real question he asked.

“This song sucks.”

You only stirred when you were closer to the opera house, letting you know you were almost home, and felt something heavy and warm on your thigh. Looking towards the left, Jason drove lazily with his other hand.

He took a side glance at you before realizing what he had done, his fingers curling to withdraw themselves from their perch. “Oh, uhh _sorry_. I can-”

You cut him off, placing your hand over the one that rested on your thigh. “Keep it there. It’s nice.”

You gave the hand a squeeze of reassurance and sent a small smile his way. The traffic didn’t bother you as you continued to look out the window, languidly tracing shapes on the back of his hand.

You felt warm.

\---

“It’s the least I could do,” you told him, ushering him through your front door. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me _nothing_ ,” he reminded you. “I told you in the car, I’d rather pick you up in this weather instead of you getting soaked to the bone trying to catch a bus that’ll come two hours late.”

“Well, I insist,” you said, turning up the heater and handing him the remote after you turned on the TV.

“It makes me feel like I’m using you when you do things like this and I can’t give you anything in return.”

“Our relationship doesn’t have to be transactional,” Jason stated. “I can do things for you because I want to.”

“And I _want_ to do this,” you argued back.

Jason was silent, too distracted by the news to argue back. You took it as your victory.

> _“The latest drug bust -involving an estimated half-million dollars-worth of cocaine- was thanks, in part to the Red Hood who revealed to GCPD…”_

“You must be tired since you were up all last night,” you commented.

“All the more reason to make you your favorite dinner tonight, _hero_ ,” you said before heading towards the kitchen to get started.

You smiled in satisfaction as Jason begrudgingly offered to help. Somehow you knew all the words that would get him to do what you wanted.

\---

Shrugging your body off him, Jason stood up and stretched, mentioning that it was getting late.

“Tomorrow’s the weekend,” you stated. “We don’t have to get up early.”

“You think crime gives a shit about a three-day weekend?”

Ignoring him, you gave your command. “Stay.”

You said it in the same tone that reminded him of when he picked you up at the bar. He reminded himself that this time was different compared to that night. You had the keen awareness of sobriety. You knew what you were doing.

He followed you towards your bed, listening to your laugh when he looked away as you changed into something more comfortable.

When you were done, you sat down, the larger shirt you were wearing -a man’s shirt? Jason didn’t recognize it as his- creeping up as you crossed your legs, exposing your bare thighs further.

“Now who said you were sleeping here?”

Jason was grateful for the soft lighting in your room, knowing that something brighter would expose the blush on his face.

“I’m kidding, Jay. What do you think we are? _Friends?_ I would never send you away on the couch when my bed has more than enough room.”

Proving your point, you got under the covers, getting lost in your duvet. You peeked your head out to watch him stiffly join you. To Jason, you looked like an angel, covered in the comfort of clouds, curiously watching the idiocy of this human.

“Wait,” you stopped him. “Take off your clothes. It’s uncomfortable.”

Your bluntness made him pause as he sat on the edge of the bed. He argued back that he was perfectly comfortable in his clothes.

You rolled your eyes, “Not for you, for me. Looking at you wear that to bed makes _me_ uncomfortable.”

They twinkled with something mischievous. “Why are you so shy? You wearing nothing under there?”

Jason scoffed, “Why don’t you find out?”

You watched with amusement at the slight widening of his eyes as your hand settled on his lap and his disappointed exhale as you withdrew it after leaning across him to turn off the light on your nightstand.

He could hear the cocky smile in your voice. “I think you can take it of yourself.”

Laughing, you settled on your side, back towards him. You could practically feel the reluctance in his movements as you heard his zipper come undone and the shimmy of clothes rubbing against the sheets, their descent marked by a soft flop onto the floor.

Feeling the shift of weight on your bed, the two of you laid with your backs turned towards each other, a space large enough for another body to lay between you.

It was only after five -maybe ten- minutes had passed before you said anything, knowing he was just as awake as you were.

“Jay?” You called out to him in the darkness. You turned your head towards him as you waited for a response before rolling over completely to face him.

“What?”

The lack of response made him turn to you, made him inch closer in case you were speaking in a hushed voice that he couldn’t hear. You felt his heat and he was close enough to touch if you only dared to reach out for him. You faced him instead.

You thought of everything you wanted to tell him and to ask him. About _that_ night, the other night and the one from weeks ago. You wanted to ask him about breakfast in the morning and to tell him that he might as well leave his toothbrush here since he came so often.

But that was too much to say and too much to ask for.

“Good night.”

“Night.”

But instead of turning away from each other, you laid in the same position, your eyes now closed and ready to drift off into sleep.

\---

Jason shifted in the bed, trying to keep his movements controlled. His head turned slightly to the right as the clock read 02:58. He guessed it must have been about an hour or two since you had wiggled your way onto his side of the bed and wrapped yourself in his arms.

He looked down at the crown of your head that was buried in his chest. His skin felt flush at all the points where it met yours.

The original discomfort he felt when he first slept with you was gone. Your bed was soft and he felt himself sinking into it as your body draped over his, the blankets covering both of you in a cloud of down feathers. As his body adjusted to the heat, Jason wondered if this was what heaven felt like.

\---

Burying your face into your pillow, you inhaled whatever was left over of Jason’s smell, keeping your eyes closed as notes of vanilla and something masculine and distinctly Jason hit your nose.

You clutched at creased sheets whose indents told you that the man you were missing was long gone. You finally opened your eyes, knowing that what you saw would only solidify your disappointment.

Jason didn’t have a reason to stay in the morning.

\---

Unlike your place, Jason’s was minimally decorated, the only personal touches were a picture of him and Bruce when he was younger and a more recent one of him and Alfred.

Walking into the bathroom, he turned the shower knob to the highest setting on the left. Steam filled the room as he stripped.

The water was hot, scorching actually, as he watched where water met skin, leaving bright red angry blotches across his body. It felt good. Still, he would have preferred the crinkling down of your comforter and body compared to the shower.

“Wasn’t that bad,” he mumbled to himself as he lathered shampoo, then conditioner through his hair.

“Shouldn’t get used to it though,” he said, trying to be reasonable.

He paused as his hands ran down his chest to wash his abs and hips. He blinked, his fingertips lingering on the spot below his navel.

The water shifted from hot to lukewarm and Jason hastily washed the rest of his body, switching the knob to the right and biting his lip as the water chilled and soon disappeared.

The steam had nearly dissipated with the cold but did nothing to help Jason’s current state. He looked down at himself and sighed, knowing he couldn’t go on with his day unless he took care of himself. At least the cleanup was easier in the shower.

His back arched as it met with the cool tile of his shower but didn’t break the focus of his thoughts. Jason’s eyes were closed as he thought about last night.

Biting his lip in frustration, he tried to skim his body in a gentler touch like yours. Feeling the blood rush downwards, his hands grazed his chest and slowly trailed down his abs, drops of water still present and glistening with the morning sun that peeked through the window.

His hands finally found their end as he stroked himself to hardness. His hips mimicked the slow grind of last night as you pressed your body against his, your ass plush against his cock. He hated the fabric that separated you from him.

“You don’t have to do this, Jason.” You whispered him to him in the middle of the night. You didn’t sound convincing.

The tips of his fingers teased you through your panties and he snickered at its dampness, the vibration of his low laughter making you shiver.

“I know, but I want to.”

Squirming against him only proved to make you more frustrated as you felt his hardness. Jason savored your whimpers as you bucked against his touch, his fingers only going in so far as your entrance, blocked by your panties.

Spitting on his cock was as close as Jason could get to mimicking your wetness as he relived fingering you. He tried to control the roughness of his strokes as he remembered the way your desire soaked your panties and dripped onto his hand, making a mess against your inner thighs and the sheets below it.

“Use your words. Communication is important for relationships and for getting what you want,” he encouraged.

His tone changed to something more mocking as his fingers stilled inside of you. “For instance, it’d be a shame if I –”

“ _Don’tstop_ ,” you rushed out, not caring about the desperation or impatience in your voice.

“That’s right, baby,” he cooed as your hips matched his pace, thick fingers moving once more.

“Tell me what you want.”

Another finger.

Harder.

Faster.

_More._

“Tell me what you need.”

To cum.

“You.”

As if he didn’t understand, you clarified.

“Jason.”

There was another breathy utterance of his name with a stuttered out please in case he didn’t hear you the first time.

Jason finished not to the way your body moved against his as he brought you to orgasm nor to the way your want tasted on his lips. He came to the image of a sleepy kiss against his heart and a quiet “Thank you,” to the wish for more midnight touches. Jason came to the thought of a shared good night and a sweeter good morning. He came to the thought of you as his, honestly, wholly and forever.

He watched desire and denial go down the shower drain.

\---

“What are you looking for?” Shawn asked as she set aside your students’ projects, ensuring that the names matched the projects.

“It’s just strange,” you commented, turning the vase over in your hands once more for a final inspection. “I spent so much time creating this and yet it feels like something else entirely different from me.”

“We insert ourselves into our art with every word, every line, every stroke and every knead. Just because you don’t recognize it doesn’t mean that it wasn’t a part of you.”

You looked at the vase’s tall walls and smooth surface. There was no trace of you on it, fingerprints lost from the slip. Looking at it against the other ceramics, you wondered if you would be able to tell that it was yours.

“It actually looks quite bland.”

The blue-haired woman snorted.

“Does its looks really matter?”

You opened your mouth to retort with a cliché proverb about beauty and eyes but Shawn continued on.

“It doesn’t have to be beautiful to be worthy of admiration. It takes on more characteristics than to be pleasing to the eye. It’s a vessel to hold and a means to provide.”

You looked at the vase again and peered inside to see what it could hold. In doing so, you noticed a small indent on its inner wall, the half crescent an unmistakable press of your nail, the mark of an amateur. It was yours.

You smiled, knowing what its purpose would serve.

\---

“You prefer feelings of safety and predictability.”

Today’s therapy session started off with more observations than questions.

“You err on the side of caution.”

Their client was quiet on the other side and the therapist looked at them, noting how they were looking past them, past the walls of the rooms and into some other space that they knew nothing about.

It was only natural to choose one’s safety above all else and even each reckless act they engaged in was in some way a means of self-preservation.

They cleared their throat, the noise causing them to look back at their therapist.

“An important part of healing involves creativity. Exploration.”

They met their eyes. They were listening.

“It doesn’t have to be something so profound as making art. It’s simpler than that.”

“Healing can be as simple as curiosity and the desire to know someone else or perhaps to know them better.”

They finally spoke.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s yourself or someone else.”

\---

Walking with a takeout bag each in your hands, you were grateful for Tim’s more discrete suggestion of having dinner at your apartment.

You underestimated his popularity as you watched him dodge a few paps from the dark tint of his company car outside of the restaurant. Neither of you wanted to read a misleading headline about a WE executive having dinner with his felon ex-secretary.

“Yeah, you should have seen how wild they got when they saw me with-”

The two of you stood inside your apartment, barely two feet in as you looked at your living room.

You felt the stiffness in Tim’s demeanor as you tried to think of an excuse for the large man who had his bare feet on your coffee table, beer in hand. You tried to think of an excuse to explain why Tim was in your flat to Jason.

Jason watched as Tim kept his cool. Acting classes with Alfred were mandatory for becoming Robin. You didn’t know that Tim was Red Robin or that the two knew each other more personally than an executive and his intern. Tim’s confusion made sure of that.

“Didn’t know we had a plus one,” Tim said with a tightness in his voice. As his former secretary, you knew how being prepared and informed was important to him. He hated surprises.

Jason watched as you motioned towards him, your body sideways and half-way between the two.

“Oh, this is Jason, my…” Tim smirked as Jason frowned behind you at your stall. “Anyway, this is Jason and I forgot that he was coming over.”

Setting down his drink and moving from his spot on the couch, Jason helped you set up dinner on the table. Tim noted that the man knew where you kept all your dishware.

Tim groaned as he looked at the three sets of plates and forks that were set up. There would have been more than enough food for the two of you but there definitely wouldn’t be enough with Jason included.

Dinner wasn’t as awkward as you imagined it to be, letting your anxiety run wild with the worst possible scenarios. Like your guests, you also didn’t like to be thrown in situations where you weren’t prepared.

“You look familiar,” Tim said to Jason. “Security?”

Jason scoffed. “I’m sure you’d remember a face like mine.”

You interjected, trying to placate the two, knowing there was a one-sided dislike on Jason’s part though you didn’t fully understand why.

“Maybe he feels familiar because he looks like Jace,” you suggested. “What ever happened to that kid?”

Your suggestion seemed to be good enough to get Tim to settle down but he still looked at the man across from him shrewdly.

“Dick didn’t tell you? He resigned shortly after you, deciding to chase love instead of a good opportunity.”

“Oh yeah?” You said, trying to avoid the discomfort that your resignation email brought. You were the only one that was fully aware of the situation. Tim couldn’t have possibly known that Jace and Jason were the same person.

“Guess he must have been the one sending me all those letters.”

Jason was quiet, watching yours and Tim’s interactions.

“Didn’t think he had it in him to be the romantic type,” he noted, glancing at Jason when he knew you were looking at him.

“I never said they were romantic. Half the time they were censored for being incredibly explicit.”

There was something enjoyable about watching Tim squirm at your comment, perhaps it was the shift in power dynamics between you or the way your comment put Jason at ease.

Changing the subject, you noted how upset Dick would be knowing that you were socializing without him. It wasn’t your fault. The one time you took him up on his offer to have dinner with him and Tim, he declined.

“He didn’t mention anything about his broken nose during our meeting, just said he had something to do tonight.”

Dealing with Blockbuster, Tim and Jason both thought.

Using that as a segue, Tim excused himself, saying he had a lot of offers and meeting minutes to review. You waved your hand, already knowing what kind of work Tim had to put into the company after hours. But Jason knew that tonight Tim had a stake out at St. Luke’s.

With Tim gone and the dishes put away, you broke the silence with an excuse.

“It wasn’t a date and I don’t have to tell you about everything that I do.”

You weren’t sure if your words made Jason angrier or if he was letting his emotions slip. You still didn’t understand why Tim made him so upset and jealous.

“Which is why you told me so last minute.”

You shrugged. “I told you about it at the diner. Right before you…”

You trailed off, still deciding if you should bring up that night.

“…told me about all the dates you go on.”

“Why are you turning this around on me?”

Accusations were the opposite of curiosity, your opinion on the matter already formed. But you didn’t care about disappointing your therapist. Because sometimes curiosity led to more dangerous paths that strayed far from comfort.

Jason continued, trying to keep his voice level. “You can’t be upset for politely telling me to fuck off and get over you. I can’t keep coming back to you and letting you drag my heart around.”

The argument went back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, stopping in front of the table. Your vase was at its edge, flowers from Ivy’s shop tucked inside.

“Then why are you here?”

“Why was _he_ here?”

“We’re friends.”

“And we’re…”

The voice trailed, remembering that night.

In the flurry of frustration, arms flailed with gesticulations and words that weren’t really meant. Lips twitched, just shy of being bitten as muscles stiffened and fists clenched.

The argument was lost to immaturity or insecurity or maybe both. The two of you forgot which night you were upset about because _that night_ was no longer specific, because _that_ night turned into _another_ night left unaddressed. Another night where you were dressed to kill each other, thinking that attraction was enough to make you stronger for tomorrow, stupidly thinking that open wounds didn’t need to be dressed because only time could heal them.

A sharp clink and broken porcelain made you forget what you fighting about and fighting for as you looked at the ground. It was almost instinctual to grab at the pieces of your broken vessel, ignoring spilled water and flower petals as you tried to hold them together.

This had to be Jason’s fault. There was no else it could be in your mind. Even if it wasn’t his, your mind thought of ways to blame him.

The pieces fit perfectly in your hands but there was nothing to hold them together. They kept on falling apart.

Jason watched your body hunch over the vase. He knew it was you made it. If it was someone else or even a different time, Jason might have called the actions pathetic. If the small puddle you kneeled before was cast in a different light, he might have seen himself in its reflection. But he only saw you and it was a pity that your art was broken.

You didn’t notice his presence until he took your hands in his. Your body still felt flushed. You still saw red. Jason was warm.

Dripping red, your finger was cut from a jagged edge that matched you with its ruby color. You must not have noticed in your desperation to clasp onto all that you could.

It was then that you looked at the hand that held yours, following it up to meet Jason’s eyes. They looked like melted frost and you saw yourself in them. Your eyes were damp and red.

It was then that you looked at him truly. No helmet on, his hair matted with sweat, bloodshot eyes that looked glossed with something wet and the corner of his lip was swollen and busted open.

You didn’t realize it earlier, too caught up in your anxiety and worries, stuck inside anger.

Jason was hurt just like you.


	4. Make It Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: smut, vague mentions of trauma

“You’re hurt.”

Jason paused and swallowed, making you wonder what it was that he wanted to say but hesitated on.

“Well ain’t that the pot calling the kettle… Hey! What’re you…?”

Jason looked bewildered as you dragged him across the room, his hand cupped in yours, as you tiptoed around the broken pottery. Taking him towards the bathroom, you sat him down on the lidded toilet. There wasn’t time for explanations or reasoning. Actions were easier than words.

Pale blue eyes watched as you rinsed the cut on your finger, shaking away the excess water as you opened up the medicine cabinet. Gauze and tape were set on the counter.

He watched as you struggled to tape down your makeshift band aid, the gauze sliding off and falling twice now. When he offered to help, he heard your sharp inhale release into a tired sigh. Maybe you felt defeated, he thought.

You let out a sigh as you tried not to instinctively react to his words. Jason was only trying to help. Sticking out your injured hand, you handed him the tape, telling him not to wrap it too tightly.

The thanks you expressed was tight and controlled, as if it pained you to accept his help. Jason knew the feeling well. It was hard to depend on someone other than yourself.

Dampening the gauze and a small towel you grabbed off the rack, you turned to him. It was his turn.

“You’re hurt,” you said again, as if you couldn’t believe it. Lightly running the wet towel through his locks, you were relived to see that the cloth wasn’t tinged pink or a dark red. At least there was no head injury this time.

Smiling as his hair started to curl with your mussing, you wondered how you could have let something so obvious slip past you. It explained why Tim was so tense around Jason. You were used to the man coming into your home late at night and during early mornings, helmet broken or bruises all over his body. Tim wasn’t. The kid was probably scared. Still, it was unusual for Jason to come at that hour.

“Why did you come here?”

Jason tried to think of excuses as to why he came: he was sorry _for everything_ -he really was-, he was injured -the truth though he wasn’t in pain-, he was on the run -a lie-, your place was closer than his safehouse -another lie. He wanted to say anything other than his true intentions: he had no explanation. He just wanted to be around you.

There was another sigh at his silence and you tried to quell the early bubbling of annoyance inside you.

“You don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to.” It didn’t matter how large their pile of avoided topics was anymore. “Why were you so upset about Tim being here?”

“He’s my replacement.”

His lack of hesitation surprised you and the firmness in his voice told you that it was more than a belief to Jason, he thought it was truth.

Tim was Jason’s replacement with Bruce as his son, as Robin, as _everything_ in Jason’s life. He felt himself start to grow uneasy as his thoughts lingered on the younger man and he looked around the room to ground himself: a white towel tossed on the ground, hairbrush on the counter next to the tape, his toothbrush next to yours and your eyes, confused and patience slowly fading.

He looked at everything else to avoid you, but there was nowhere to run, Jason realized, in your impossibly small bathroom. It was suffocating. Jason didn’t want to escape you but rather the ugly parts of him that you were starting to strip away.

Tilting his chin up, you dabbed at the split section of his lip with the gauze. His eyes were still downcast, dark lashes hiding what was inside his mind. His lips were a tight line. You would have thought he was uncomfortable if his body wasn’t so compliant with your manipulations.

“Jason,” you said gently as you assessed your work. The hand that tilted his chin up, moved to cup his face instead, the gauze a stark contrast to the softness of your palms. Your thumb cautiously brushed his cheek and it was only then that he looked at you.

“Tim could never replace you.”

It was difficult for Jason to hear your words. It was something he had been so desperate to hear years ago and something he had given up on. He was tired of Bruce’s evasive answers of not having a favorite or denying his accusations. He was tired of Alfred giving him overused maxims about how special he was to Bruce, to him, to everyone. How he was irreplaceable. He knew they were lies whose intentions were kind but lies nonetheless. Tim’s presence contradicted all of that.

When he heard the words he so desperately wanted to hear from you, someone so removed from who he was yet so deeply entwined, it struck a chord in him. An anxious voice told him you were echoing what he wanted to hear. A more reasonable one told him that you accepted him, you understood him, you _knew_ him.

It was only then that Jason realized how small you made him feel with the way you towered over him as he sat, the way you held his gaze to yours. The way your legs stood in-between his and the heat that was shared between you. He felt small in his pettiness over Timothy fucking Drake. He felt small at the flutter of your words. He felt small and insignificant over his feelings but for once, it didn’t matter so long as you looked at him like you did.

Jason felt the flush of embarrassment creep up his neck and to worsen it, you added, “Not for me, at least.” If you felt the warmth that seeped from his cheek and onto your hand, you said nothing.

He averted his gaze as you clicked your tongue. There was a change in your tone that shifted from tenderness to teasing in an effort to save face. It was difficult to be vulnerable like this.

“Can’t believe you ate dinner in this state. Did you think blood would pair well with lemongrass and coconut milk?”

It was easier to dress physical wounds than to address the emotional ones.

\---

It was the first time in awhile where you expressed your emotions so freely. Usually it was a painful process trying to get you to verbalize your feelings aside from the occasional outbursts. It was almost overwhelming even as she waited for your sobbing to stop.

Gingerly, she reached over from her perch that separated the two of you and squeezed the hand that lay in your lap, the other covering your crying face. It was a bold move that could have easily backfired but she was pleased to see that you accepted her offer of connection instead of pushing her away.

She spoke once your cries turned into sniffles and tissues dabbed at eyes that were no longer watery.

“It’s easy to blame others for our problems, for the things that hurt us, that broke us. But it’s also important to realize our roles in regards to our pain.”

You sniffled again. “Are- are you trying to say that this is my fault?”

Her eyes were kind. “I’m not telling you to place blame on yourself. I’m telling you to be honest. It’s easy to run away and deny the parts of ourselves that we don’t like. It satisfies our egos to tell ourselves that we aren’t the reason for our own misfortune. I’m telling you to accept your fault. It’s okay to be human.”

You stared at her for a moment too long and you hated how she didn’t shift around in her chair with discomfort. She was used to your behavior.

“I was talking about my vase that got broken.”

She gave you a knowing hum and feigned ignorance. “Oh, is _that_ what got you so worked up? My apologies for misunderstanding.”

You gave her one more glare before the session ended. You hated how well she knew you.

\---

“I can’t believe you were just going to throw it away,” Jason said, sitting backwards on a chair as he watched you work. He ignored your comment about the vase being broken, mesmerized as gold dust mixed with clear lacquer.

You were annoyed that Shawn had let him in while you worked after hours, leaving the two of you alone with a suggestive wink and a knowing smile. Thinking back on your conversation with her, you thought about how it lead to your current situation.

“I feel like a failure because I worked so hard on it and it broke so easily,” you lamented over the phone.

When she asked about the broken pieces, you told her you were planning to toss them. It was almost comical how upset she got.

“Just because it’s broken, that doesn’t mean it’s useless.” She ranted.

She could hear the skepticism in your hum. Shawn continued on, “Have you ever heard of kintsugi? It’s trending in the art world right now, ya know, broken bits of pottery put back together with gold. Real pretty with gorgeous veins that emulate natural forms like rivers and veins and…”

You watched as the golden lacquer dripped from the cracks that you mended, slowly reforming your broken vessel. You liked the organic lines it formed, giving it more personality compared to its original state. There was proof that it was broken but it was still beautiful.

“I liked the way it looked before,” Jason said as you wiped off the excess with a rag. “But I think it looks better now.”

Shawn’s words echoed in your head as you looked at the clock and timed how long it would take to dry.

“Things that are broken can be fixed if you have patience. Sometimes we get so worried about imperfections that we fail to realize how it adds to an object’s beauty.”

\---

That stupid song that Jason was singing in the car a couple weeks back was stuck in your head and you begrudgingly played it as you prepped dinner. You didn’t want to listen to it. It was the only way to get it out of your head and to hopefully find some reprieve from thinking about the man in reminded you of.

Even more time had passed without talking things through. It was starting to gnaw at you or perhaps it wasn’t and it was just the annoying pestering of your therapist who pointed out how you’ve regressed in your coping mechanisms lately.

You looked at the dinner ingredients with scrutiny. It was more than enough for you but if Jason… You shook your head at your thoughts and dumped the uncooked food onto the pan. They sizzled as they cooked in the oil for a moment before you quickly turned the knob to kill the stove’s flame.

Against your better judgement, you found yourself cutting up more vegetables. Just in case, you thought. When the song switched over to the next, you found yourself pressing the button to replay it. You hummed along to its tune the second listen and quietly sang along on the third. It wasn’t that bad the more you listened to it.

The song served as a pleasant distraction as you continued to chop up more ingredients, doubling the recipe.

“So tell me now, ‘cause I won’t ask again, will you still love me tomorrow?”

“Ye-”

Jumping at the voice, you quickly turned to brandish your chef’s knife at the stranger, its tip pressed into the material of their shirt. It wasn’t enough to stab but enough to warn as you tried to assess the situation.

“Now what did they say about bringing a knife to a gun fight?” Jason teased as he pressed you against the kitchen’s edge. Taking the knife from your hand, he reached over you to place it somewhere safe on the counter and you heard its faint thud, too focused on the man in front of you.

Feeling his body as he leaned over yours made you frustrated with want and annoyance. If you were hopeful, you would have sworn he was answering the question to the song you were singing. But you weren’t that optimistic and you wouldn’t let Jason make a fool out of you again.

“Speechless huh,” he went on, finding amusement as your mouth went from a confused “oh” at his quip to something twisted with annoyance. He leaned into you further, both arms on either side of you. “I tend to have that effect on –”

“And I don’t suppose that said gun is the one pressed against me now?” You asked dryly.

“How ‘bout you take a peak and find out for your-”

“ _Careful_ , Red. Wouldn’t wanna shoot yourself in the foot now. Why are you here?” You abruptly asked. The use of Jason’s other name didn’t go unnoticed by him but he said nothing.

“Looks like you were making dinner for two,” he pointed out, moving back from you and pressing a button on the side of his helmet before setting it somewhere behind the knife.

You ignored him. “And what were you trying to tell me before you scared the shit out of me?”

Jason never made things easy for you or himself. It would have been easier to tell you that his answer was yes but it was also more frightening.

“Yell,” he said. “You must not have heard the first part since the music was so damn loud. I told you to turn it off so I don’t have to _yell_.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled as you continued to cook and Jason set the table for the both of you.

When he was done, he looked back towards the kitchen and saw the steam around your form and heard its sizzle.

\---

“You’re mad, aren’t you? Look, if it’s about dinner, I got the next one.”

You sat with your arms crossed on the other side of the couch and ignored Jason’s advances as he reached across the empty seat between you to try and call a truce. You contemplated whether you should be honest about your anger but your mouth decided for you.

“Do you really think it’s about that?” You snapped. “It’s about that night.”

From the edge of your vision, you saw Jason recoil and return to his side of the couch.

You both tried to avoid talking about that night and those nights but it was starting to pile up and you finally felt suffocated and exhausted trying to pretend that everything was alright and normal between you. Tonight was the final straw and you were tired.

Turning to him, he could only give you a dumbfounded, “Oh.”

He chose his words carefully. “I know that what I did was wrong and I know that I hurt you.” He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to figure out where to go with this. “But why can’t you move on from that?”

“Why can’t we move on from us?”

He didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory but he knew you took it that way when your responded with your voice high and shrill.

“Us?” You asked. “Is there even an us? _Was_ there even an us?”

“All we’ve done so far is play games with each other and call it…” You struggled as you tried to say it, trying to let go of shame and name the word, the thing, the _feeling_ that you two have been dancing around since the first time you met. The word was heavy in your mouth and your tongue had difficulty letting it roll off.

You swallowed before repeating yourself again. “All we’ve done so far is play games with each other. All we’ve done is _hurt_ each other. And we call that _love_ even though we both know it isn’t.”

Jason’s expression was unreadable as he listened.

“Because love isn’t keeping secrets and love isn’t at a distance. Love isn’t happily-ever-after nor is it star-crossed. It’s not running away and it sure as fuck isn’t _whatever_ this is. Love is the choices we make for ourselves and for each other.”

“I was hurt. I’m _still_ hurt about what happened that night. I felt blindsided by taking a leap of faith and falling to the fucking ground. I felt betrayed that I trusted you, that I fucking cared for you. Because what you did,” your voice faltered as you got to this part. “What you did that night and what you _continue_ to do every night proves to myself that I’m unlovable and unworthy of knowing you.”

“What am I doing wrong?” He asked. He had been trying for himself and for you. He was patient and honest, something he was never diligent about in his personal life.

“Did you not want this? Do you not want me?”

“I want you to be _honest_ , Jason. I’m tired of the misunderstandings and miscommunications between us.”

“I told you I fucked up,” he sighed. “Maybe it’s better to say that _I’m_ fucked up. That I don’t think that I’m someone deserving of love, that I’m someone deserving of you.”

“I’ve been trying,” he said as he looked at you. There was sadness in his eyes. “Trying to show you that I care, that I’m more honest with myself _and with you_.”

You thought of the Red you knew then and the Jason you knew now. Jason was more vulnerable than the Red you knew. He told you when you cooked something that he hated or when he was too tired to talk. There weren’t kisses and more close encounter than embraces but you still saw his blush when he was embarrassed.

It was different now. There wasn’t any red like the brick walls of alley ways when you’d hook up. There wasn’t any red like the danger of wailing sirens whose color matched his hood. There was only red like the courage found in wet eyes and vulnerability. There was only red when you caught eyes and only red when you knew you had the other’s attention.

“It’s fucking hard when we’re like this. When I’m fucking terrified of being close to you. When I’m fucking _scared_ of loving you. When you want me one moment and then push me away the next.”

“You don’t think I’m afraid either? Of being hurt again or making the wrong decision?”

And there was red in your words, red like blood, with how much he’s hurt, how much you’ve hurt and the different ways the two of you have been wounded.

“Why are we like this?” The laugh was bitter.

“Normal people - _mature_ people- welcome love with open arms and open hearts and here we are, day after day, trying to run from it and every night we end up in each other’s arms.”

“We really are fucked up, aren’t we?”

\---

“I’m sorry,” you said, admitting that you let your temper get the best of you again.

The apologies were begrudging at first. You wanted to hold on to your anger despite your talk. You wanted to punish him still for hurting you. But your rage cooled as nights went on and you realized how unfair you were being as Jason tried to make it right between you. It was only with an uncomfortable epiphany that you realized that you needed to put in effort as well.

“I’m trying but it’s hard.”

He gave you a small smile. “Day by day, right? Or I guess with everything I’ve done, hour by hour.”

“With you? More like minute by minute.”

\---

“Why do you find it difficult to express your fears and your needs?”

They scoffed as if the answer to the question was obvious.

“It’s simple, isn’t it? I don’t want to be rejected. I don’t want to get hurt.”

“It’s normal,” they said, voice reassuring. “To be wanted, to be loved, to love.”

“Do you think you’re asking for too much?”

They gestured to the file in their therapist’s hands. “I don’t know. You know my history. Seems like I was all those _other_ times.”

They sighed.

“Is this the excuse we’re going to go with for today’s session?”

**\---**

“Looks like Daddy isn’t afraid to have a bit of fun still, hm?” You teased as Jason tossed a helmet to you.

“Careful,” he warned as he revved the engine of his bike. “Keep usin’ that mouth of yours and you might end up on a different kind of ride.”

“Whether I keep using it or not doesn’t matter, either way the destination’s gonna be the same. I’m still gonna end up at your place, aren’t I?

There was a laugh and whatever you responded with was muffled by his engine.

\---

A few steps into Jason’s apartment and you were surprised with how neat it was, looking around for any personal affects. You were immediately drawn to the few pictures he had on a shelf.

“Didn’t think you had friends other than me,” you said dryly.

You glanced up at him to smile at the scowl on his face. “We’re not friends.” You weren’t annoyed at his lack of clarification of what you two were, looking back at the photos.

Pointing to the tall redheaded woman and a pale hulk, you waited for an explanation.

“My old crew,” he explained. “We traveled the world together after I did _that._ B -Bizarro- might be a clone but he’s the best bud a guy could ask for.”

“A Superman clone,” you said as you scrutinized the picture.

“The one whose info you sold to Black Mask.” Jason cringed at the bitterness in his tone.

“Oh,” you said lamely. That -no, _he_ \- was the Kryptonian project that Black Mask had threatened you with, info that he promised would get him to leave you alone forever. It seemed he kept up with his promise too since you hadn’t heard from him since that day.

Bizarro looked so innocent, like a giant puppy almost, and you felt guilt fill you as you realized what horrors the poor thing was subjected to. “I didn’t…” You started. “I never thought the project was an actual person.”

Jason barely heard your mumbles but could tell from the stiffness in your body that you felt bad. He realized that all of his thoughts about you tricking him in the past were wrong and you uttered an apology about what you did and how you didn’t know.

He waved it off. “It’s fine. He’s the king of hell now or something.”

You weren’t sure if Jason was being serious or trying to make you feel better.

Changing the subject, you pointed towards the other picture, “And Red Arse?”

Jason cringed. “It’s just a dumb thing between me and Roy. I’ll tell ya later.”

He ushered you towards the rest of his apartment. “C’mon, I thought you said you wanted to see my humble abode. Better take advantage of this rare opportunity.”

“Funny, it seems like the only thing you’re trying to show me is your bedroom, Jay.”

\---

Jason’s bedroom was surprisingly small compared to the rest of his apartment. The only telltale signs that it belonged to him were the leather jackets in the closet and the pistol he kept in his nightstand.

“Well?” He asked from his seat on the bed.

“It’s nicer than I thought it would be,” you admitted, taking a seat next to him.

It was awkward after that but neither of you voiced anything to break the tension. You surveyed the room to avoid him but the more you looked into the corners and spaces, the more you saw bits of Jason in his bedroom. The bed hardly looked slept in, though it seemed like preferred the left based on the slight groove on that side. He didn’t like messes either with how neat and tucked away everything was. Most of all, it seemed like no one else had been there given the slight skittishness in his demeanor as you two tried to glance at each other discreetly.

He spoke first. “I was wrong about you,” he said. “About this. About us.”

His words made you sink as you tried to find context in his tone. You found yourself clinging onto him for support, pushing your weight against until his back touched the sheets he hardly used and your legs were tangles messes.

You were a breath apart as your eyes searched his. They were ice, pale blue like the harshest winters and you saw yourself in them. You moved down to his cheeks and jaw, the scars you once knew him by faded and replaced with stubble. Then finally you moved to his lips, agape, and you knew there was something else he had to say but fear took over and you stopped him.

It was a kiss whose pressure was meant to crush, to destroy until there was neither of you left, bits and pieces of yourselves scattered and mixed together. But its touch was lingering, soft, delicate even, as his mouth left yours. You were crushed but it only brought you closer together.

It was a kiss that dragged him back to you with a greater force until the both of you were falling. A kiss that gave you more questions than answers, questions about you, about him, about us.

It was a kiss that left you confused and uncertain, a kiss that let you swallow your fear along with saliva. Your questions rang against clanked teeth and insecurities danced across inquisitive tongues. Miscommunications and mistakes slipped out between breaths. It was a kiss that held all the misunderstandings between you.

It was a kiss that made you wonder what you meant to Jason Todd.

He spoke again after you broke apart and you braced yourself for the impact.

“I thought it’d be terrifying to let you in and to have you know me, to see the shitty parts of me that only I know.” He paused to look up at you. “Still is, but it’s not that bad.”

Your heart slowed down at his confession as you thought of what to say.

“I know you’re scared of getting hurt again, of being wrong. But I want you to know that I want to make things right.”

His hand reached up to cup your face and the intensity of his gaze made you flush, making you aware of how close you were with each squirm.

“We keep on joking about how we’re so fucked up,” and Jason looked hesitant about his next suggestion. “But I want to get better. Together. With you.”

It would have been easy to respond with words but it was never easy between you and Jason. You spoke to him with actions.

Kisses, sloppy and hasty as if one might change their mind. The rip of zippers and clothes scattered across the bed and the floor. And hands, wandering, caressing, grasping, pinching, as if to mark each other’s bodies with one answer: yes, yes, _yes_.

Jason wondered if this was heaven as he looked at you from between your legs. It didn’t have to be heaven but it tasted like it as his tongue licked a stripe up your center. It sounded like it too, with angels singing at your sighs as he added a finger, then another to your core.

Your hands clutched at sheets as Jason’s name became a metaphor of God, the two interchanged as the tip of his tongue swirled against your clit and he continued his fingering.

His slicked back hair was a mess, the dark locks wild and in disarray as Jason kissed his way up your thighs and slowly - _too slowly_ \- up to you.

You felt his desire, his want, his need press into your thigh as he kissed you once more, raising your hips slightly to graze it. You’ve known what it felt like before but you never wanted Jason with such urgency and you felt your vision go red with fervor as you begged him to let you kiss it.

But the stretch of your mouth as your lips wrapped against his girth was nothing in comparison to the stretch you felt elsewhere as Jason sunk his length into you. He was slow in his movements, teasing as he looked down at you with a smirk.

When he finally pressed the rest of his length into you, he took your mouth in his as if to claim the surprised yet grateful “oh” that slipped from your lips as his own. Your arms wrapped around his neck to kiss him deeper, to feel him deeper as his hips snapped harshly into you.

You mewled as he pressed your legs back and threw them over his shoulders, the position allowing Jason to reach all the spots you begged him to fuck. His pace was relentless as he sucked on exposed skin, wet kisses left in a haphazard trail from the column of your neck and ending at the peaks of your breasts.

“Jason,” you moaned as you felt yourself get close to the edge, your toes starting curl from the pleasure.

He said your name in return as he laid his forehead against yours, using one of his supporting arms to take your hand in his. His movements slowed as he made you feel the entirety of his length and the fullness of his girth with each thrust.

Each thrust of his hips was another curse, another mumble of your name, a mention of how pretty you looked beneath him. He was going to make you feel good. His pace was punishing as his strokes were rougher and quicker to gain more friction, he words equally short. He wanted you. He needed you. Because he loved you.

“I love you,” Jason breathed as he felt your tightness and warmth wrap around him, making him finish inside you.

Your response was slower, senses and function dulled by the tingling of orgasm. You blinked twice before looking into his eyes. There was worry and a flash of fear but no regret over his words.

“I love you too, Jason.”

\---

In the afterglow of sex and afternoon sun, Jason traced the veins on the back of your hands and looked at the lines of your palms as if to search for any sort of mark of two souls or a string of fate to connect you. He wanted to know your history, your home and to see if there were places and experiences that matched with his own, desperate for anything to tie you to him. He wanted something more binding than fate to keep you two together, something less temperamental than the stars.

It was useless, he realized as you placed small kisses on his scars and loosely entwined your fingers in his. It was more romantic to be chosen than to be fated.

And in making choices, he decided to make the one that you had wanted, in the past and now. It was a choice of honesty. He wanted to put in the time to make things work out between you and wanted whatever golden lacquer of love to fix the broken parts of you and him and make something beautiful.

You watched curiously and then cautiously as Jason moved from the bed and got down on one knee. Your eyes scanned the area for the possibility of a small box with a ring appearing out of nowhere. The thought of _that_ made you nervous.

Taking your hand in his, he looked up at you with his beautiful eyes of ice. The light caught them in such a way that it reminded of you spring in Gotham when the sun would melt the snow. They melted into pools of ice, warm and nearly golden.

He said your name softly before moving on to his question. “Will you do me,” he paused for dramatic effect, causing you to roll your eyes. “The honor of going on a date with me?”

“Depends,” you drawled, enjoying the way he squirmed as he waited for your answer. There was something that was just so satisfying about watching the way Jason’s pale eyes never wavered from yours as his muscles laid stiff. There was something satisfying about the way you could feel his heart beating only for you in that moment. Perhaps a small part of you still wanted to punish Jason and found satisfaction in that.

You cracked a grin, deciding that the length of torture would suffice. You answered him in the only way that you two knew how.

“Depends, Jay,” you said again. “You put out on the first date or what?”

He stood up from the floor, form rising to encompass yours as he straddled you, to cover you, to kiss you, to hold you.

Jason caught you once more, the weight of his body pinning you to the mattress as his face hovered over yours, features soft, gentle, _adoring_. With his body on yours, you wondered if it would be easier to hold him there with your embrace or to kiss him, lips locked to give weight to your answer.

He threw your words back at you, the heat of his breath tickling your ear and neck, “Depends. Why don’t you say ‘yes’ and find out?”


	5. I Want You Around

The bride was beautiful as she walked down the aisle, surrounded by the small crowd of loved ones. Her dress felt understated for the occasion and she joked that she didn’t want it to detract from her beauty. All eyes were on her as she approached the altar but hers were locked in a gaze with the man she would spend eternity with, something she would promise before all she knew on that day.

The ordained minister stood between the couple as they exchanged vows and rings, promising the entirety of their beings to each other. There were tears in the crowd but the couple paid no mind, sights only set on each other.

The ceremony was almost over, the only thing left being the bride’s consent to her new life with her husband. She didn’t care about all the eyes in the crowd, only the ones that were before her, gazing deeply as if looking into her soul. It was with one kiss that she would seal her soul in his forever.

That was when he felt it. First when he saw the way her eyes broke from his and second when her lips trembled. Third when he expected tears but saw none. And finally, when she spoke.

“I…” she trailed, swallowing hard to push down her fear.

“ _I don’t_.”

That was finally when she started to cry -perhaps out of remorse or perhaps out of relief- breaking away from his grasp to run down the aisle. The rose petals were trampled as she left, crushed like the expectations for the day. There were no apologies uttered and he didn’t dare to chase her. After all, he had been chasing her for the duration of their relationship and he had finally grown tired.

He turned to the crowd, trying to find words to say.

“Well, that _sucks_.”

You stifled a laugh at Jason pointing out the obvious, soon disregarding what was happening on the TV screen.

“You think it’s worth it?” You asked. “To tell everyone that you’re gonna love this person for the rest of your mortal life? And by everyone, I mean _everyone_. Including the government.”

“Including Batman,” Jason added.

“As far as its worth, I think we both have our issues with commitment and expectations of each other. I don’t think we need others to bear witness to our ability or lack thereof to uphold our vows.”

You sunk into the couch cushions, letting whatever feelings you had on the topic sink with your body. The silence was your agreement.

\---

Growing restless and impatient, you avoided the temptation of calling Jason for a third time on the hour, opting instead to obnoxiously drum your fingers on the table of the bookstore you sat in front of. He was running an hour and a half late without any texts or calls to explain why.

It wasn’t a habit of his and if anything, he normally _over_ communicated with you, reasoning that he just wanted to hear your voice and let you know that he wasn’t intentionally leaving you hanging. When he did do it though, it was usually with good reasons: a drug bust that took longer than he anticipated, a thwarted attempt at a mugging and the like.

You sighed.

Looking around for any possible signs of your lover, even going so far as to check for any local news on crime or the Red Hood, you gave up. Gathering your things, you took one last glance at the spot you abandoned before deciding that it was time to leave.

You were tired of waiting for him.

\---

The restaurant Jason took you to wasn’t anything special, some local joint that bordered Crime Alley and Cresthill. It was almost depressing to see the wealth disparities between the two boroughs.

You turned to Jason and looked back at the elderly gentleman that sat across from you, waiting for him to introduce you two before mentally confirming your suspicions about the man in front of you.

Jason gestured towards him, “Alfred. _My gramps_.”

He noticed the pleased smile on the elderly man’s face.

“No need for an equivalent exchange, Master _ahem_ Jason. Being acknowledged as your grandfather is a reward in itself,” Alfred told him over the phone the night before when Jason asked him to drop the formal “master” in front of his name.

 _Pennyworth_ , Jason failed to mention. Selina snuck you into enough Wayne galas for you to recognize the man and his name. Your mind jumped to conclusions about Jason’s family, trying to determine if they were related biologically or through adoption. You decided to wait until later for his explanations, if he’d even give you one.

“Ah yes, and you are Jason’s…” He gave a thoughtful hum. “Calling you _his_ wouldn’t be appropriate in this progressive climate now, would it? Unless of course, you _want_ to be.”

Jason blurted your name out not once but twice after his teasing. You couldn’t help but laugh at Alfred’s snark, if not for the humor then for the awkwardness of the situation. The man seemed to understand the murky and strange dynamic of the two of you well, making you wonder if Jason told him everything, if it was intuitive or if it was just blatantly obvious that the two of you were shy about announcing your relationship to others.

After orders were placed and the food arrived, conversation was easier, the tension cut with clanking of forks and knives.

“We used to go on camping trips when he was a boy. His father never approved of it but I’d always sneak him to the shooting range before we got back.”

Alfred failed to mention that camping really meant survival trips that Bruce sent Jason on, but at least he made them fun.

“That’s great,” you said. “I can only imagine what a troublemaker Jason used to be.”

“Still is,” Alfred noted. “But how can you stay upset at a precious face like this?”

To prove his point, he pulled out a baby picture of Jason and you laughed at the thick curls that covered his head, lamenting that his hair straightened out more as he grew older. Jason knew better than to question how the picture was acquired. He wasn’t sure if it was Alfred or Bruce who took it to begin with.

Glancing at Jason, you noticed that he was uncharacteristically red, not out of anger but embarrassment.

“Red’s a good color on you,” you teased.

“I must be embarrassing him,” Alfred apologized. “I’ve grown sentimental now that he’s grown up and out of the house. I can’t help but yearn to have another small child -perhaps a _baby_ \- to make up for this loneliness.”

His last sentence held a tone of suggestiveness that took a moment for you to realize. The two of you looked away from each other, hoping if you didn’t acknowledge the older man’s wishes, he wouldn’t mention it again.

He laughed. “I suppose though, at your age the act itself is more enjoyable rather than its purpose of procreation.”

The heat of embarrassment between you and Jason was palpable and Alfred found entertainment in its flames.

\---

“Your grandfather seems nice,” you said once you were back at his place.

“Oh, he’s great,” Jason said as he tossed his jacket on the couch before plopping down next to it.

“Didn’t know that Alfred Pennyworth had children, let alone grandchildren though.” You cursed yourself after the words left your mouth, hating how accusatory you sounded. You told yourself on the drive back that you’d let Jason explain himself on his own time but you were impatient and your mind was already filled with different ideas by the time he parked.

Jason’s body grew stiff and Bruce’s words of echoed in his head. “Be as careless as you’d like with who you reveal yourself to, but there are people that we, that _I’m_ trying to protect and I won’t let your foolishness hurt them.”

It was quiet between you, driving home the point that what you said was wrong. You tried to make amends to what you said but only made it worse.

“You’re him, aren’t you? Bruce Wayne’s second son?”

Jason flinched at the title as if it was painful to even hear it. He sighed, knowing that he had two options: lie or tell the truth.

\---

You wanted to laugh at the situation you were in and some strange thought wandered into your mind, making you ask yourself if Romeo and Juliet were truly blessed by the stars rather than crossed. At least their love died on a good note, not being soured by the realities of what happened after love, when issues of devotion and security came out, when pettiness and grudges fit themselves in the spaces of a crush where giddiness and hope used to lay.

The little fights were piling up, making each night together turn into a series of those nights to the point that you could hardly remember the last time you shared a good moment with Jason.

You stared at the man before you and you couldn’t even remember why the two of you had gotten so angry at each other, why there was so much animosity between you or why you couldn’t recall the last time you shared “I love you”s.

Jason sighed, running his hand through his hair as he always did when he was upset and trying to think. His eyes seemed to look beyond you and you wondered if it was out of guilt or fear that he couldn’t look you in the eye.

He let out a sigh, making you realize just how heavy the air had gotten. The intensity in the room was crushing.

Your lip quivered as the two of you laid with your backs turned to each other, your spines not quite touching. There was no kiss good night, no promise to wake up to the other in the morning. It was easy to wonder how things had turned into this but you knew and Jason knew exactly what had been said and done.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a draw, a deadlock. Fights in the past weren’t easily erased. You could still make out the words as you slept, your mind filling in the parts that were scratched out. It couldn’t be remembered as it was but it was feelings not facts that were key to relationships.

Which was why you weren’t surprised when you awoke a few hours later to the sound of the bedroom door quietly closing. You turned to look at the other side of the bed.

Jason was gone.

\---

You weren’t sure which action was more foolish, lingering a few extra minutes, awkwardly standing next to your table or leaving without a word. Deciding on the former, you left without looking back.

The streets of Gotham were crowded as you headed home, rush hour and the weekend making it seem livelier in the city despite the gloom.

You couldn’t help but overhear others’ conversations as you walked past them in the station halls. There were conversations about family, about love. There were conversations about breaking up, about seeing each other later on or never again.

You walked past them with ease. In the past, you would pause and listen. You told yourself it was for profit. But it was mostly to make you feel less lonely, you realized, during a breakthrough session with your therapist.

It was more exciting to experience these things yourself than to watch from the outside in.

Those conversations no longer interested you.

\---

“It’s a risk,” you finally said, thinking about more than just weddings but love itself.

Jason knew your feelings well. Love was always a risk and forever was a promise that you two weren’t certain you could keep. At first it was, when the two of you initially got together, high on the feelings of commitment and intimacy. As love grew old and the years went on, the reality of forever seemed long and it was easy to wonder if love was truly everlasting as boredom and fights set in. Some days it felt like you were together out of duty rather than passion.

But it was duty that made you two believe that maybe, just maybe, love could last a lifetime. It wasn’t with weary legs that you dragged yourself to each other each day and each night. It was curiosity and commitment that you found yourself in each other’s arms. It was the belief that you were better together than apart. It wasn’t duty, no, that word was completely wrong. It was devotion.

“We’ve done riskier things,” Jason said, shrugging.

“I’d rather choose you every day than to have one day of theatrics dedicated to commitment.”

It was easier to choose each other one day at a time because it gave you both the option to leave in the morning.

\---

“I am.” Jason finally said, as if he needed to find courage for his admission. Admitting that he was Bruce’s son to someone other than his family felt odd. It wasn’t liberating nor was it anxiety-inducing. It felt like acknowledging one of his aliases because you knew who he really was, that that wasn’t all that he was.

“Or I was.”

“…I don’t know.” He added, as if that explained things any better.

It did. You saw the way his stiff shoulders slumped in defeat with his final words, the uncertainty of his status seeming to bother him. Though if it was out of sadness or confusion, you couldn’t tell. It would take more than this conversation to understand the entirety of what he meant.

Being the son of Bruce Wayne explained a lot, you realized, as you thought about your past with him. It explained his animosity towards Tim Drake and the strange familiarity he had between the other Wayne children, though they never hinted that Jason was anything more than an acquaintance. You wondered if they knew he was the Red Hood and if that was the source of his presumed estrangement with them.

Jason looked at his hands before looking back at you, sighing before deciding on the right course of action.

“But before I was the son of Bruce Wayne, I was the son of Willis and Catherine Todd, a street rat who lived in the slums of Crime Alley.”

He saw you lay your hand on his, causing him to look up at you, prepared to be met with pity. He wasn’t. If anything, there was empathy in your eyes and you graced him with a small smile for reassurance.

You apologized for forcing his hand too soon, reminding him, “We don’t have to talk about everything just yet. The past will always be there, right?”

He nodded but continued on with the story of his childhood. He wanted you to know him. All of him.

\---

A few minutes later, you blinked, wondering where the time had gone as you heard Jason creep back into bed, his footsteps as soft as possible as if he didn’t want to disturb you. A dull clink on the nightstand told you that he had gotten up for a glass of water as you felt the mattress sink down on his side of the bed.

There was hesitancy in his voice when he spoke and you could feel it against your shoulders as he reached out to touch you gently.

“Hey.”

The rough callouses on his palm were oddly soothing as it slid from your shoulder and down the length of your arm, ending at your hand. The weight of his was heavy on yours and you half-expected Jason to intertwine them.

“You up?”

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know that Jason was watching your figure to see if you were awake or feigning sleep. Taking an even breath, you opened your eyes, slowly turning to him.

“Yeah.”

Jason swallowed, half-hoping that you really were asleep so that the two of you wouldn’t have to talk about your issues then and there.

“I know it’s late, but do you want to talk about what happened earlier?”

Another swallow. “About us?”

The pause in conversation was heavy, heavier than Jason’s hand as it slowly retreated from yours, readily accepting defeat. You reached back to claim it, holding it in yours.

Giving him a smile that might have been lost in the dark, you spoke. “Yeah.”

You glanced at the clock behind him. “You ready to talk until dawn?”

Letting out a low laugh, you could tell Jason was reassured, his voice more confident than before.

“You’re asking _me_ if I’m ready to talk? Until _dawn_? Baby, with the issues we got between us, we’d give the _Gotham Inquirer_ a run for their money.”

He planted a kiss on your hand before growing serious. “Issue number one starts with ‘I love you.’ The issues in-between, yeah, they’re important too. The latest one? Juicy as hell. Lots of drama.”

Jason paused, weighing his options, before speaking again. “There were even rumors of a break up.” He snickered, knowing that quip was well-worth the light punch in the chest and huff from you.

“But I’m hoping that after our lil talk, I can have you the same way I like my local tabloids.”

“Ignored and crumpled in the trash?”

“No, neatly folded on Bruce Wayne’s desk.”

“Well, I guess we better start talking then…”

\---

As you stepped on the platform, preparing yourself to be greeted by an empty home in twenty minutes, the sound of your name being called out made you turn around. It was difficult to discern amongst the other noises and voices around you but it was enough to make you look for its owner after hearing it a second time.

You caught a glimpse of someone familiar, blue eyes forcing you to meet their own as if not meeting would make them lose you. You felt the intensity of Jason’s gaze even as you broke eye contact, finding yourself running. Your footfalls were loud and pounding against the worn-out tile, dodging others to avoid contact.

It felt as if your lungs were on fire as flashes of searing red spotted your vision and you slowed down lest everything turned to black. You felt even more breathless as you met Jason halfway across the station, his embrace crushing as he lifted you off your feet.

It was a kiss that didn’t need greetings or apologies as your lips closed the spaces between you. It wasn’t a hello or a good bye. It was a kiss like every other one you shared with Jason where acknowledgement of the other was shared. Sight wasn’t needed to see the other. You could feel him.

You pulled back from Jason, a hand running through his hair, fingers getting tangled in it, not caring that his dark, slicked back locks were getting mussed. You looked at his face before focusing on his lips. They were red.

“I…” You started, feeling sheepish with the way he looked at you after setting you back on the ground.

You watched a blush creep on his face, nearly matching the red of his lips as he realized where your words were going.

“I didn’t forget,” he started off, pulling a crushed cell phone from his pocket, the only evidence of his day’s activities.

“I didn’t want to make you wait. You’ve been waiting long enough. So I did the only thing I could think of: I ran.”

“To me,” you said, more for yourself than for him.

“To you,” Jason said with certainty.

“And I ran to you.”

He grinned. “You did.”

You shrugged before leaning up to kiss Jason once more. It was a kiss that solidified each other’s decision, if only for the day. Your lips met, no room for anything other than each other. It was a choice to stay together for the day, for the night. And as you parted only to meet once more, it was a hopeful promise for tomorrow as well.

\---

A/N: Just gonna insert the[ tumblr banner I made for the series](https://arestorationofbalance.tumblr.com/post/635236998531219456/dripping-in-gold-jason-todd) here so you can all see the cute Jason Todd I made on ArtBreeder. Thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting and hopefully enjoying the series! See ya at my next work!

**Author's Note:**

> I truly have no self-control and couldn’t wait until the new year to post this. Happy holidays, ya’ll!


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